Ravenpeak
by Starchild524
Summary: Set in the LK timeframe. Alerted to the strange new behavior of hurroks harassing fief Ravenpeak, Jonathan sends Daine and Numair to investigate. The cause, they discover, is a formidable threat both to Ravenpeak and to Daine herself. Ch. 14 up.
1. Chapter 1

Ravenpeak  
By Starchild  
Author's Note: This is my very first fic. Congrats to me! Looks like it's going to be a long one... and don't fret if it's a while between installments. This stuff's hard work. Go ahead and hit the handy little review button on the bottom left, okay? Because I refuse to publish another WORD until I have some idea what you guys think. So unless you want to be tortured by suspense for the rest of your LIVES, you'd BETTER give me some feedback! Mwa ha ha ha ha!!  
This is for all you other D/N shippers out there! *high five* ;)  
Thanks: to Jennifer. This project would be a disaster without you! Thank you SO much! *hugs*  
Disclaimer: The premise of Tortall, its neighboring countries, and the characters thereof are the creation and property (sort of) of Tamora Pierce, the goddess of feminist fantasy. I am hereby borrowing the abovementioned items with the best of intentions but not a smidgen of permission. Don't sue me. It's not worth it.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Her eyes slipped open in the gloom of their bedchamber - quickly, as she had learned over the years to respond to a call to duty at any hour of the day. As the Wildmage of Tortall (she had never quite gotten used to what she considered a grand title of legends), her role in the realm's battles against immortals was demanding. Now, her internal clock told her it was several hours past midnight, no proper time to be summoned from her bed. Yet - she adjusted her ears to those of a cat - there was definitely someone knocking at the door, and urgently.  
  
Carefully, she twisted around to peer over her shoulder. Numair was still sleeping soundly. She decided not to disturb him - he was easily as tired as she, these days - and set about going to answer the door. Slowly she eased out of his arms and moved to set her feet on the carpet. As she reached the bedroom door, however, she saw her movement had not gone undetected.  
  
"Daine?"  
  
He was shifting to rest on an elbow, blinking sleepily. She released a brief sigh-like breath. It was indeed rare that her absence would go unnoticed by him - and vice versa. She raised a finger to her lips. "Shh. Go back to sleep. I'll get it." She indicated the front door of their suite, still under siege by the knocker in the hall. Before he could reply, she slipped out the door and shut it gently, hoping the stillness would lull him back to sleep. Grabbing a dressing gown from a nearby chair, she slipped it over her shift and wrapped it around herself, rendering her appearance marginally more presentable to the nighttime visitor. Moving through the main room of their suite, she picked her way around the various cats, dogs, and other wildlife that shared the room. Her friends among the People, or animals, had long sought her company at night, but upon moving in with Numair she had reluctantly banished them from the bedchamber. Now, they slept in the main room instead, still taking comfort in her presence as always.  
  
Approaching the front door, she reached to activate a nearby lamp - like all the lamps in their rooms, it was powered magically, thanks to Numair - and dropped the cat eyes she had used thus far in moving through the darkness. She blinked briefly at the new light, then opened the door, still trying to clear her head of the soft, adhesive drapes of sleep.  
  
Alanna the Lioness, the King's Champion and longtime friend to both Daine and Numair, stood in the dim nocturnal light of the hall's lamps, fully dressed. Daine squinted; the knight was not only attired in her typical work-and-battle-clothes, but armed as well with sword and dagger. This was not unusual: the current war with the northern country of Scanra was keeping Tortallan warriors and mages alike on their toes. It seemed the Tortallan forces were mobilized for a new danger, whatever it was that had now come up. Daine focused tiredly on her friend's face. It seemed that she would again be adding to her sleep-debt bill, already quite steep.  
  
"I'm sorry to wake you up." Alanna spoke quietly so as not to disturb the rest of anyone in earshot. "Jonathan and Thayet called me, and Gary, and Buri" - she named the king's chief advisor and the commander of the Queen's Riders - "and asked me to fetch you. We're meeting in his study. It's important." The Champion looked as weary as Daine, and their friends in the forces against the enemies that were plaguing the kingdom recently, felt. "Otherwise I wouldn't have roused you at this disgusting hour."  
  
Footsteps padded behind Daine; she felt a solid warmth at her back as Numair's arms circled her shoulders. It seemed he hadn't taken her advice after all. She smiled up at him briefly, then returned her attention to Alanna. "Immortals?" she asked, voice thick with sleep. She cleared her throat discreetly as the knight nodded tiredly.  
  
"Where?" Numair questioned. She felt the rumble of his voice in his chest behind her. "What do you know so far?"  
  
"Down at Ravenpeak." Alanna named a fief near the Tyran border, one important to the Crown. "Lord Gregory sent a runner tonight. There's trouble. Says it can't wait." She shook her head grimly, gazing off into the distance for a moment. "Just - come to His Majesty's study as soon as you can, all right? We'll get the story then."  
  
"We'll be there in twenty minutes," Numair promised. Alanna nodded to them and set off in the direction of the conference, pace brisk.  
  
Daine shut the door and then leaned back against it for a moment, trying to clear her senses and mind into full consciousness. She and Numair had been busy in the north for months, fighting the enemy mages and spying - with the help of Daine's animal friends - to get the Tortallan forces as much information as possible on the movements of the Scanrans. Less than a week ago the king had granted them a month's leave, to return home and regain the strength so dearly spent in the war. Now, however, it seemed they were going back to work, leave or no.  
  
"Daine?" Numair kept his hands on her shoulders, looking at her with concern. "Would you rather just stay here while I go to Ravenpeak? I'm sure I could handle it alone, and you still need to get some rest."  
  
"Of course not," she broke in. "I'm not the only one who needs rest. Besides, Alanna said it's immortals. I need to be there to deal with them."  
  
"I've dealt with immortals in my time." The dim lamplight made his dark eyes even deeper.  
  
"You don't even know what they are, down at Ravenpeak. Let's first go to His Majesty's conference, and see what's amiss." She had already made her decision, and he could tell. "Besides -" she smiled, sliding her arms around his neck - "*someone's* got to be there to keep you out of trouble."  
  
He smiled in return and pulled her close. "What would I do without you, magelet," he murmured.  
  
She rested in his arms a moment before pulling away reluctantly. "We'd best get ready."  
  
~~~~~  
  
They walked into the king's study, which often doubled as a conference room for advisors and commanders close to the Crown, fifteen minutes later. Seated at the long table were King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, side by side, as well as the Lioness, Buriram Tourakom of the Queen's Riders, three Rider group leaders under her, and the king's advisor Sir Gareth the Younger of Naxen. It was a typical assembly for planning defenses against the monsters from the Divine Realms that harassed the kingdom - minus Sir Raoul, knight commander of the King's Own, and commanders under him. Lately the Own was engaged in the Scanran war in the north. Despite the absences, Daine couldn't help but swell a little with pride at the dedication and skill assembled, and at being in their number. After eight years of being the Wildmage, she couldn't imagine an occupation other than serving Tortall, even with the carnage and horrors of war, and the danger of her work. On this night, however, at this hour, the assembly looked less than heroic and enthusiastic. Most talked with their neighbors in undertones, or just sat silently to their own thoughts. All looked exhausted, yet grimly gathered their strength to address the task at hand.  
  
Daine and Numair joined the assembly, taking adjacent seats. Automatically she reached for his hand, and they exchanged quick smiles as he squeezed it comfortingly in reply.  
  
The king now cleared his throat and stood. "Thank you all for coming. I apologize profusely for waking you up at this hour -"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure you're very sympathetic, Jon," joked Gary. "Seeing as you're up at this time every night anyway."  
  
This roused a weary chuckle from the gathered members. The king's tireless devotion to his country in time of crisis was famous.  
  
"We have," he continued when the laughter died away, "a - situation with immortals at fief Ravenpeak. A rather urgent one. I've called you all here to address the issue as Ravenpeak is valued by the Crown as a constantly loyal vassal and we will make all efforts to their assistance. Master Gerric Blackstone, Lord Gregory's messenger" - he nodded to a scrawny man in riding clothes sitting next to Sir Gareth - "brings disturbing reports."  
  
The runner addressed the assembly. "For a week or so, there've been hurroks about the fief." He named well-known - and -feared - immortals extremely hostile to humans. Hurroks were a strain of winged horses, infused with a hawk's talons and a predator's forward-facing eyes and fangs. "There were some attacks, injuries but no casualties, and they carried off livestock. There were only ten or so - my lord sent out a company of men to confront them. In the fighting, the beasts backed the forces into a ravine, then up against a cliff - without them hardly realizing it. Then twenty more of the things swooped down on them." His voice dropped; he wouldn't look directly at his audience. "Every man sent out is dead."  
  
Silence lapsed as the implications of what the man had said soaked into the assembly. Hurroks were no more intelligent than animals. Although Daine, as a wildmage, could communicate with them as she could with animals, the immortals could certainly not exchange complex ideas such as battle strategies. They would never have set up an ambush.  
  
"At least," Gary mused aloud, voicing his colleagues' thoughts, "hurroks could never plan like that as *we* know them. So either we've had a very off-target idea of their intelligence all along - or they've just recently made a breakthrough, and a big one."  
  
"You're sure they *were* hurroks, Master Blackstone?" questioned Zara of the Fourth Rider Group. The Riders, who patrolled the country and fought as needed, had experience with the immortals that harassed Tortall. "Not some other, smarter kind of creature?"  
  
The scrappy man shook his head. "Positive, my lord. Our mages got a good look at them. And no one was riding them at all. We searched all around the lands for people, and the mages scanned for cloaking spells. Nothing. The beasts weren't being directed by humans."  
  
"Maybe they *have* become more intelligent somehow," the king mused. "Maybe some mage fiddled with their minds."  
  
"I doubt it, Your Majesty," Numair remarked. "Such a substantial alteration *might* be possible, in half a century or so, but at this point it will be a long time before mages can even approach making minor *physical* changes in the properties of immortals. Unlike mortal creatures, their bodies and minds are extremely resistant to such change. Also, hurroks are not the most likely creatures to - cooperate with humans, especially human mages tinkering with their being."  
  
King Jonathan winced. "In other words, we're looking at the same old monsters we've always known - who have somehow developed battle strategies without the help of humans."  
  
"But how do we know that?" Alanna broke in. "That they didn't have human help?"  
  
"Humans can't communicate with them, Lioness," Daine pointed out. "Except, well" - she shrugged apologetically - "wildmages who've magic with animals. The *only* way humans could be commanding them is if they were right on their backs, steering them around. And Master Blackstone here says they couldn't find any humans, besides their own people" - Blackstone nodded - "about."  
  
The king pondered this for a moment. "We need to find out more about these hurroks, then," he decided. "Numair - Daine? Could you head down to Ravenpeak and look into it?"  
  
They nodded. "Of course, Majesty."  
  
The king addressed Blackstone. "Does your lord need reinforcements to defend the fief, after his losses?"  
  
The man shook his head. "We should be fine, sire - Ravenpeak always has a good force to start with, and if need be we can ask for help from Fief Riak." He named a neighboring fief just north of Ravenpeak.  
  
"Just as well," the queen added. "I doubt the Riders, at least, could spare many right now - we've got our hands full in the north."  
  
"The Own, too," Jonathan admitted, "what with the war. Just the mages, then." He addressed Daine and Numair. "But - you're sure you won't need anyone else? We're not going to spare effort here; Lord Gregory has done the Crown a good deal of favors and his needs are respected in time of crisis -"  
  
"If we can't hold them off magically," Numair reasoned, "we'll just call in Ravenpeak's forces."  
  
"Very well. But don't be careless. Your task, until further notice, is to investigate the hurroks' new abilities - not to fight them. Meanwhile, the Own and the Riders are to continue their current endeavors unless the situation in Ravenpeak becomes more urgent." Buri and her Riders nodded. They and their forces were frantic as it was in the north and along the coast, battling colonies of spidrens preying on villages as well as the pirates and raiders typical for the time of year. "Daine, Numair, please leave for Ravenpeak as soon as possible. I'm sorry to push you so hard, but -"  
  
"Don't mention it, sire." Daine was not about to sit around a moment longer than necessary when monsters were acquiring strange and deadly new talents. "Leave in the morning?" she asked Numair. He nodded, and she conveyed this to the king.  
  
"Excellent." King Jonathan ended the conference. As its delegates were leaving, he called the mages to his side.  
  
"Really - I'm so sorry to break off your leave," he told them. "I know you must be exhausted from the war - I hate to wake you up in the middle of the night, and send you across the realm to fight monsters. You two have done Tortall great services time and again - and I know how hard you've been working -"  
  
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Numair spoke for both of them. "But it seems that everyone is working hard lately - and this is supposed to be our specialty. We couldn't refuse the assignment, or delay our departure, with things as they are."  
  
The king smiled grimly. "I'm glad you feel that way - to say the least. I'm sure you know, it's going to be dangerous work." His smile turned to one of earnest encouragement. "Take care of each other. Watch your backs - these monsters look tricky. Good luck, and gods all bless."  
  
~~~~~ 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Okay, people, here it is! Thank you all so much for your encouragement. So kind.... Take note - I'm getting a little better at the art of fluff! ;) Whew, this dialogue business is harder than I thought - I've lent out my Immortals books, so I've no reference. Plus, my beta reader's internet connection was down - eek! I just did my best. Listen, don't hesitate to critique, because I will make significant revisions based on readers' responses, as I see fit. And for future reference, don't expect chapters every day. Unlike some authors, it takes me at least a day to write, and a day for betaing. Now, enjoy! I await your reviews. *waits nervously*  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The ride south was brisk and windy at first, then warmed as they rode south. Corus's familiar rolling hills and dense oak forest gave way to rockier ground, more mountainous landscape, less verdant vegetation, and fewer trees. The sky was clear and the sun shone in earnest, but it was cut by a chill. In the south, the road cutting through plains and farmland between mountain ranges was of dry, beaten earth. They went on Cloud and Spots, as usual, and traveled light: besides typical traveling supplies, Daine took the bow her father had given her, and Numair various magical instruments and devices. For such a magical investigation, they would need little else besides their own magical abilities and their minds.  
  
They had been working together like this, traversing the realm at King Jonathan's orders, since Daine's student years. Since then, they had effectively become Tortall's resident magical authorities. Numair had been regarded as such for years before he met Daine. But for her, this was a position that, despite the years, had never quite suited her. To declare herself a great mage to the world was hardly her nature. Yet her accomplishments in the Immortals Wars had earned Daine honors from the Crown and recognition throughout the country. Since then, she'd somehow picked up such skills as "being a presence" in Court, relating diplomatically to the highborn, and accepting favor from royalty, and - of course - the speech of the cultured. The Daine who had come to Tortall eleven years ago had wanted only to keep to herself and help her animal friends, and her speech was laced with the loose grammar of tiny and remote Snowsdale. So this, she decided, was what they called maturity - but surely she'd always be the same Daine, underneath.  
  
At the same time, one of the first things she'd learned upon arrival was that here, one's past was irrelevant to his or her future. The Queen and Buri had been forced to flee their war-torn homeland. Onua, the Rider horsemistress and Daine's first Tortallan friend, had been beaten and abandoned by her husband. Sarge, the Rider's training instructor, had once been a slave. The Lioness's husband, Baron George of Pirate's Swoop, was the former Rogue, or king of thieves, in Tortall. Numair himself had been driven from his home in Carthak after being accused of treason by the Emperor Mage, his former best friend. Now he was renowned as one of the world's great mages, and close to the Crown in Tortall - as was Daine herself.  
  
The other main thing that had changed since Daine and Numair's early years was their relationship. Since their first kiss in the Divine Realms when she was sixteen, she'd understood his hesitation - given their age difference and his history with women, he couldn't help but feel he was taking advantage of her in some way. Still, they'd resolved the issue best they could after the end of the Immortals War, and any reluctance from either of them hadn't gotten in their way since. Their love felt perpetually fresh and sweet, as though newly discovered - but at the same time so replete, so saturated, that it filled her whole being. Their tacit vow was to stay together all their days, married or no. And, happily, no one had commented on the fact that they lived together at Court. Despite the teasing, their friends approved thoroughly of the match. She suspected that those who didn't dared not speak out. That was another advantage, she decided with some amusement, of being such esteemed mages. "Gods help you if you get on his bad side," Onua had once said of Numair. Daine had seen this illustrated more than once - and, she had to admit, she herself did not respond favorably to being wronged. She felt a prick of guilt at the mess on Emperor Kaddar's hands since her rampage at the imperial palace at fifteen.  
  
"Daine?" Numair, riding Spots on her left, interrupted her thoughts. "Can you sense anything yet?"  
  
She listened with her magic - and sensed nothing but the People of the surrounding plains. She shook her head. "Not the hurroks, anyway. And I'll let you know when I do, so don't fret."  
  
He smiled briefly. "What do *you* think? About what his lordship's runner said?"  
  
"I've no idea," she said flatly. "Hurroks, griffins, coldfangs, winged horses, - they're just like animals, the way they think. They can't have ideas like we see them." She shook her head grimly. "I can't imagine how they could back Ravenpeak's men into a trap like they did."  
  
"Maybe someone was directing them," Numair said thoughtfully, "and Lord Gregory's mages couldn't see them - I'll certainly want to talk to them when we arrive. Perhaps they were using slave collars, at least to control them, though I've never heard of such a device that could directly control the subject's movement. Particularly so, I would think, with such an - obstinate species as hurroks. And I doubt the hurroks have been *changed*, but it could be these ones are a kind we've never seen before.." He frowned, staring off into the distance. "But I don't see how any new immortals could have crossed between the realms since the end of the war. "  
  
After the Immortals War, the gods had ruled that inhabitants of the Divine Realms would once more be kept out of the human's world. No more immortals since had come into the Human Realms.  
  
"I'll surely take a look at them, when we reach Ravenpeak," Daine promised. "I'll feel much better once I get a feel for their mind -"  
  
A smear of pain entered her magical field of vision. She turned sharply, searching for the source - one of the People was injured.  
  
"Daine? What's wrong?"  
  
"Someone's hurt." She pulled Cloud to a stop and dismounted, having pinpointed the disturbance. In the gray-green brush off the road, a falcon lay bleeding. She picked him up gently, settling him on her lap with a care to the wound. His feathers were the soft gray of an overcast sky, flecked with a darker gray. Wing-brother, how'd you get this?  
  
His fierce raptor's eyes were unfocused. One of those monsters - he showed her an unmistakable image of a hurrok - got me in the air, he explained.  
  
She clenched her jaw. It wasn't the first time such monsters had hurt her friends, but she never stopped hating them for it. As always, the People's pain was her own. After reassuring the falcon, she set to work healing the wound. This, too, came more easily with years and practice, and she was able to treat her patient in a matter of minutes. The hurrok's claw had slashed his back, cutting through muscle and grazing his internal organs. She called new flesh to the wound, smoothing over the rupture, and burned off the infection. The bird had also sprained a wing in his fall - though luckily, it had been softened by the brush - which she soothed as well.  
  
Finished, she withdrew her magic. The falcon - he introduced himself as Windracer - hopped a few steps away, easing out stiffness. Thank you so much, he said, marveling at the change. But someone has to deal with those monsters before they hurt anyone else.  
  
That's just what my friend and I are here to do, she told him. Come with me. She patted her shoulder, and he flapped up to it, settling his claws into the leather of her tunic. She returned to Numair and the horses.  
  
"This fellow had an accident with the hurroks," she explained. "Maybe he can help us out."  
  
Numair nodded eagerly, eyes on the falcon, whom Daine addressed. "Did they talk to you?"  
  
Yes. They told me to get out, that I was on their grounds. Windracer looked even fiercer than his kind did naturally, and his grip on Daine's shoulder tightened.  
  
"That's hurroks for you." Daine was quick to agree. "But - did they sound different at all?"  
  
What do you mean?  
  
"What they said - the way they spoke - was it different from how the People usually speak?" The idea was hard to express to a falcon.  
  
Well, yes - but they're not People. They're different.  
  
"Besides that they're immortals." She tried again. "Did they sound at all. wiser than the People? More like two-leggers?"  
  
Not at all, said the falcon. They don't sound like *you* - you have more complicated ideas. Daine's friends had always been wiser for knowing her than normal animals. Many came to understand human speech.  
  
"I'm asking," she explained, "because they outsmarted a group of two- leggers and killed them. We're trying to figure out if they've gotten smarter, or if they had help from humans."  
  
I doubt they could have outsmarted a mouse, Windracer said scornfully. (Daine smiled: predators all seemed to disdain their prey.) They were all fighting with each other, anyway.  
  
Daine turned back to Numair. "He says they're not at all smarter than regular animals - and they were quarrelling among themselves -"  
  
"So it's doubtful that they could have arranged a trap like the messenger described," he mused. "So it would seem they were indeed under human command." He shook his head. "I'll scry for mages, then. "  
  
"I still want to look into the things' heads," Daine added. "And maybe they'll tell me if they're being ordered around by mages." She could impose her will on mortal People; with precautions, hopefully it would work with the hurroks as well. She turned to the falcon on her shoulder. "Thank you, Windracer."  
  
Thank *you*, he replied. Good luck. We'll see each other again. He leapt from her shoulder and flapped away into the mild fall air, soaring above towering sandstone peaks.  
  
Daine remounted Cloud and they resumed riding. A gossamer veil of clouds had swept in from the north to veil the sun; the light dimmed and shadows softened. A brisk wind pushed over the plain, making her curls swirl over her face and vegetation thrash about. The change was to her a grave reminder of their friends and comrades at the Scanran border, and the grim struggle there. Though no soldier herself, Daine had seen enough of war that she could distinguish between the glories of battle many envisioned and the bloody, desolate reality of pointless killing.  
  
"I wonder how they're doing in the North, without us," she remarked.  
  
"His Majesty *did* grant us a month's leave," Numair reasoned. "With any luck, the forces allowed for it."  
  
"As they had to. Now they'll have not nearly as much spy reports - they'll be slowed down, not knowing what the Scanrans are up to." Her blue-gray eyes were troubled.  
  
"The king *wanted* us to rest," he reminded her.  
  
"Can't blame him. I don't think one man or beast in the camp will forget your... accidents." She started to grin. "Like knocking over the blacksmith's tent, ripping a ten-foot trench in the ground just before troops marched over the spot -"  
  
"Anomalies," he said defensively, chin lifted slightly. "I - I merely lost control of the spells for a brief time. It happens to every -"  
  
"Don't even try." She cut him off mid-argument. "You were being sloppy -"  
  
"Daine!" he protested.  
  
"- because you're *tired*," she finished matter-of-factly. "Anyone can tell you've been overworking yourself. What the Own does *not* need is a black-robe mage who can't keep the power he uses from making all sorts of messes in the camp."  
  
"As if everyone can't tell *you're* tired."  
  
She didn't deny it. "I can manage," she said grudgingly.  
  
He snorted. "You're in a constant state of semiconsciousness. How long before you fall asleep on your feet?" He fixed her with a stern look. "I would feel greatly relieved - as, I'm sure, would Their Majesties and the Own - if *you*, at least, were resting at the palace instead of running right into another battle. One, you're exhausting yourself further. Two, you're putting yourself in danger." His expression softened. "Daine... I worry about you. You always go a step further than the army needs - and asks - you to. Each time, I can only wait until you come back, because there's nothing I can do to stop you. But someday, you just might go too far. I don't know if you realize the risks you take."  
  
"I do realize them," she said tightly. "Numair, I'm not sixteen anymore. By now I've seen enough that I can make my own choices and take my own risks as *I* see fit, though I'm sorry it makes you worry. But Tortall is *my* home, too, and I've just as much right - and duty - to protect it as you."  
  
He fell silent, staring down at Spots's mane. Sometimes she wondered if an effect of their age difference was this - his protectiveness, as though she couldn't take care of herself. Logically, this was absurd. She'd *had* to take care of herself at age twelve when bandits had destroyed her home and the people of her home village had hunted her like an animal. In her time with the Riders and as a wildmage, she'd fought countless battles with both her bow and her magic. More than once she had pulled *him* out of trouble; great mage or no, he could act rash sometimes. And yet, often he acted like he couldn't bear to see her in danger - and given her duty to the realm in such times of war, it was suffocating.  
  
"You're right," he said at last. Daine looked over at him; he looked grave. "You *do* have a duty to the realm - and I know you, magelet, and I know you'd never let anything get in the way. It's just - Mithros. Daine, I love you. I just don't want you to get hurt." He relented. "I'm sorry. I'm... being selfish."  
  
She smiled graciously and extended an arm to him, drawing Cloud closer to his side. He drew her close, on horseback, chin resting on top of her head. "An endearing quality," she murmured. Though unspoken, he was forgiven. She pulled back slightly to smile up at him. She loved him with every ounce of her being; she could hardly protest a sign of how much he cared about her. He bent to brush her lips with his. "Magelet, you're too kind," he whispered. They returned for a deeper kiss.  
  
Their romantic diversion was interrupted when Cloud pulled aside. Save it for later, she told Daine tartly. You were making Spots and me bump together.  
  
Daine laughed and translated for Numair. 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: My, my, where did all this fluff come from? I must have forgotten to clean out the dryer. Bad me! Oh well.... ;) Well, time to lighten up after all that serious stuff and business with monsters! Enjoy.... Oh yeah, and I've bumped up the rating, to be safe. Come on, it's no more than what you'll find in the books.  
Oh BTW, one thing I've discovered about the digital facilities of ff.n is that they don't consistently transcribe properties of M Word, which leads to occasional punctuation and presentation foibles that AREN'T MY FAULT!  
Thanks: to Rasha. Look, I took your advice... ;)  
Guys, be nice. Review.  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Shortly after noon they topped a final rise, giving them a panoramic view of Ravenpeak. The fief and its lands were backed against a ragged line of foothills hemming a mountain range of towering peaks, and seemed to lie in the protective shadow of a particularly salient peak - too steep, Daine suspected, for human conquest. The sandstone bluff was furnished sparsely with scraggly vegetation along its slopes; the flat summit was completely bare and brought to mind the surface of an altar.  
  
"Raven Peak itself," Numair remarked, seeing Daine's glance. "Legend has it the first settlers here were guided by a raven sent by the gods, who flew to the peak and settled on the summit - so they knew the fief was meant to be built here."  
  
"Or at least, the raven's nest was," she put in. He grinned in reply. "Well - there are quite a few ravens here," she added earnestly. "And they're fair... respected here, among the People. Like leaders, almost." This was in fact strange; she'd rarely seen animals dominating others outside their own kind, and certainly not prey over predator! Yet she'd gotten the sense that here, ravens were in fact regarded by species they would normally have to be wary of. She had to wonder if the legend had some truth behind it.  
  
The fief was circled by high sandstone walls that, unlike those of most Tortallan castles she'd seen, were topped at intervals by decorative pillars rising several feet above the rest of the wall, with vertical lines cut into them, thrusting a sharp but elegant point into the air. The style looked distantly exotic; she couldn't quite place where it reminded her of. They descended into the plain the fief was built in.  
  
As they neared the castle gates - these too graced by elegantly exotic designs - a guard called out for them to identify themselves. He spoke with an accent, and Daine noticed the style of his uniform was unfamiliar as well.  
  
"Master Salmalín and Mistress Sarrasri, sent on His Majesty's command, summoned by Lord Gregory," Numair announced. The guard turned to bark a command, and the gates swung slowly open to reveal a cobblestoned and bustling main square. They started in the direction of the castle, clearly visible from anywhere in the fief.  
  
As they made their way through the busy streets, Daine tried not to stare like a country girl seeing the big city for the first time. Ravenpeak had a feel altogether different from that she'd thought ubiquitous in Tortall. It was like stepping into a new world; the very air had the spice of a faraway place to it. One of the first things she noticed were the fashions the people wore. Women's skirts were shorter than was traditional in Tortall, and loose enough - as well as unsuspended by countless petticoats - to swirl around their feet as they turned. Blouses were cut lower, particularly in the back, as well. Most clothes were in delightfully bright colors. Men's clothes as well seemed less strictly pressed, and in brighter colors as well. The people themselves didn't look completely Tortallan as she thought of the country; most were golden-skinned from the climate, dark- haired, and with deep-set features. The sunlight that saturated the streets was relieved occasionally by the shade of the silver-green foliage she recognized as olive trees. The people passing on the street called out to one another both in Common and a zesty yet graceful tongue Daine didn't recognize. Snatches of songs she heard flitting through the air were merry and quick, with layered, intriguing rhythms. She mentioned her observations to Numair.  
  
"It's the Tyran influence," he explained. "As Ravenpeak's so close to the border. Many Tyrans live here, as you can see, and they bring their culture with them. The fief is often used as a standpoint for negotiations with Tyra - ambassadors are often hosted here, and I believe, in fact, that Lord Gregory and his family have considerable connections at the Tyran court."  
  
"It's wondrous." The feel of the village was so vibrant, so lively, it brought a smile to Daine's face. The people's spirit seemed to sparkle under the open azure sky. "I hope it stays that way here, instead of just becoming like the rest of Tortall."  
  
"Doubtless it will," Numair remarked. "Many Tyran immigrants find work - and community - here."  
  
Even without the influx, she couldn't imagine such a robust spirit fading into the general Tortallan ways. Ravenpeak, she noticed, was also quite large as Tortallan fiefs went; she imagined it was virtually self- sufficient what with ample crops and livestock as well as artisan guilds of every kind. Daine tried not to laugh as a young girl with red ribbons in her hair fought to keep the goats she was herding in place. The girl lost the battle as her charges broke away and approached Daine eagerly, ignoring Cloud's flattened ears.  
  
Daine reached down a hand for them to smell. "You're a lovely crowd, aren't you?" she remarked warmly. "But shouldn't you stay with your mistress?"  
  
She's not really our mistress, explained their leader, a notably wooly nanny goat with a notch in one ear. She just herds us around sometimes. Besides, visitors are rare - especially ones like you.  
  
"Lady, I'm so sorry," the girl gasped, curtseying and struggling to simultaneously return her flock to order. Angular vowels and a roll to her r's suggested a first language other than Common. "These beasts just don't listen when you tell them when's the proper time to -"  
  
Daine held up a hand. "Oh, they're good creatures," she protested, smiling. "And they like you. Nana here says you slip them treats when your mother's not looking." Nana's herd-mates chorused consent.  
  
The young girl's jaw dropped. She stepped back to get a better look at Daine, heedless of her freely roving flock. "How -? But you -" Her bright dark eyes widened. "You must be - the Wildmage! The one who can talk to animals, and turn into them! *Are* you?"  
  
"That's me, sweetling," Daine admitted. "But you shouldn't believe everything you hear about me." Tales of her magic were often blown far out of reasonable proportion.  
  
"But - everyone knows about you!" cried the girl. "How you always battle monsters, and your parents are *gods*, and you defeated the evil Carthaki emperor when you were just a girl, and you fight to protect the realm with the great mage, your lov-" She fell silent, as though abashed, though her bright eyes still ate up the sight of the mages.  
  
Daine blushed and looked back at Numair, who shrugged, grinning. "You can hardly deny it, magelet."  
  
A small crowd had gathered at the young girl's heraldry. Lively whispers were exchanged, largely in Tyran, though Daine had an idea what they were saying. Happily, an older girl in a frilly green skirt came to their rescue, grabbing the young goatherd by the arm and scolding in Tyran. She turned to Daine and Numair. "Sir, lady, I apologize for my sister's behavior," she said graciously, curtseying deeply. "Young Tilena does not know any better." She glared at the younger girl and hissed something further in Tyran. Tilena moved to collect her unruly flock.  
  
Go with her, Daine urged them. We'll talk later if you're good. The goats obeyed.  
  
A young boy piped up. "Master Salmalín? Couldn't you show us some magic? Please?" Children around him regarded the mages eagerly.  
  
Numair looked at once harried and amused. Daine nudged him encouragingly. "Go on, show them something," she urged, infected by the children's attitude.  
  
"Just one spell!" added another boy.  
  
Numair relented. "Very well. Just one." He adopted a mock-grave, dramatic air. Raising a hand, the glittering black fire of his Gift gathered around it, then twisted into a serpentine column which wound into the air, high above their heads. At its zenith, the coil condensed upon itself, as though preparing to spring, then exploded into a shower of sparkling flecks of color which swirled around the street. The children squealed their delight; some ducked, some tried to catch the many-colored sparks.  
  
"What about the Wildmage?" demanded a girl of about six. "Can you turn into -"  
  
"Children!" a commanding voice reprimanded. Behind Daine and Numair's audience stood a maternal-looking woman with dark hair tightly braided and pinned up. She was holding a basket of vegetables braced against one hip and her expression could have made the strongest wither with shame. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she declared. "Master Salmalín and Mistress Sarrasri were sent by His Majesty at our lord's request to defend the fief - not to entertain you. Ravenpeak is in *danger*, and you should have some respect for those that came here to fight the monsters. Now stop dawdling and go about your tasks before your parents see fit to punish you." She succeeded where Tilena's sister had failed: the children dispersed, shamefaced. The woman curtsied to Daine and Numair, then went on her way as well.  
  
Daine smiled at Numair. "That was fair impressive," she told him. "I don't think I've seen it before." The episode had lifted her heart from the grim task before them, at least momentarily.  
  
"Always a crowd-pleaser," he admitted. "Particularly with the children. Though I'd be curious to see *you* perform something for them." He grinned mischievously.  
  
"I wouldn't," she told him flatly. "No matter how much they begged, you won't see me giving children a show, Master Salmalín. That's *your* specialty, as I recall."  
  
"Oh, but I'd pay good money to see their faces when you shape- shifted," he teased. "Though it might not be so, ah, appropriate when you changed back -"  
  
She gasped indignantly and swung at him. He caught her wrist in a strong grip. "Violence!" he protested, feigning shock.  
  
"Watch yourself, mage," she said sternly, though she let him keep her hand. Her eyes danced. "Or I just might turn into something big and fierce when you don't want it."  
  
He kissed her fingers graciously in a show of humility. "I never forget it, sweet."  
  
They continued through the village without interruption. Daine merely enjoyed the sights and the welcome of the local People. She decided not to begin questioning them about the hurroks just yet; investigation could wait until she had all the news from Lord Gregory himself.  
  
"These people don't particularly looks like they've seen monsters recently," Numair remarked as they rode. It was true: the businesses of the fief seemed to carry on as usual, and the people went merrily about their day. It was not at all the status quo Daine would expect in the wake of hurrok attacks, and she said as much to Numair. "I don't see the damage, either."  
  
"Let us take it as a blessing, for the moment," he replied. "I take it you haven't sensed the hurroks yet?"  
  
She shook her head. "Nothing." Her brow creased ever so slightly; something about the fact was bothering her. She pushed it from her mind.  
  
The approached the castle, a majestic edifice whose architecture spoke clearly of the Tyran influence in Ravenpeak. The main entrance was framed by ranks of stately marble pillars, more of which supported lofty balconies on higher stories. The castle's lofty towers rose on elaborately designed constructions, many capped with domes and themselves surrounded by railings of pillars.  
  
Apparently the mages were expected and recognized by the guards posted along the front of the castle. Hostlers took their horses, house servants their packs. A steward appeared and ushered them inside to a baroque parlor, where Gregory and his lady, Elise, sat with a young noblewoman whose coloring and features spoke of Tyran background.  
  
A servant announced their presence: "Numair Salmalín and Veralidaine Sarrasri, sent on His Majesty's command." Daine and Numair stepped forward and bowed to their hosts. Ravenpeak's lord looked to be in his fifties, fairly tall and well-built, with greying hair and a direct, even gaze. He stood at Daine and Numair's arrival.  
  
"Only the most powerful mages in the realm," he commented, smiling in welcome. "It's an honor. Please, sit." They did, taking seats opposite the nobles on a plush couch piled with silken cushions. The finery made Daine self-conscious of her travel-worn clothes, though surely Lord Gregory would know they'd just arrived.  
  
"Thank you, my lord," Numair said graciously. "You flatter us. The honor is ours."  
  
"The great Numair Salmalín," the young Tyran noblewoman noted, "and the Wildmage." Her bright eyes held a spark of mischief, and they hung onto Daine and Numair - *particularly* Numair, Daine noticed with irritation. It was rare that ladies showed overt interest in Numair - or men in Daine - anymore, given the mages' reputation. The lady looked to be in her late twenties, and Daine had to wonder why she wasn't married.  
  
"Don't gawp at them, my dear," ordered Elise. She turned to Daine and Numair. "May I present Lady Roselda of Tyra?" She smiled at the younger lady. "Her dear mother and I were like sisters, and we are always pleased to have Roselda grace our home." Daine could indeed tell that Roselda was used to favor and well-tuned praise. The lady was dressed in the flamboyant styles of Tyra, and wore the self-confident expression of a highborn flirt. She was indeed very pretty, with finely carved features and sparkling dark eyes. She continued to eye Numair.  
  
"My lady," Daine said coolly, "are you sure this is the safest time for a visit? Surely you know Ravenpeak has been suffering hurrok attacks?"  
  
"Such is the matter we must discuss," Lord Gregory put in. Daine and Numair shifted their attention to him. "It's strange, you see - the beasts haven't returned since they first slaughtered my men last week, and I sent a runner to Corus. Not a single sight of them. It's as if they just disappeared - or they're hiding, waiting for something."  
  
Daine and Numair exchanged glances with some apprehension. This explained the carefree manner of the people they'd observed, but again Daine got the feeling that something was terribly wrong with these particular hurroks. A small knot formed in her stomach.  
  
"It is indeed unexpected behavior, my lord," Numair said aloud. "As was the strategic nature of their attack. We suspect that another mage was indeed directing them, though your mages detected no such magical activity. I would certainly like to speak to them at some point, and to scry for other mages myself."  
  
"Another possibility," Daine explained, "is that the hurroks harassing the fief are not typical of their species. Perhaps they are indeed more intelligent than their kind is known to be. I will try to contact them magically, and to examine their minds to determine if this is the case." She didn't add that thus far, the hurroks had proved to be out of her range completely, and she knew nothing more of their whereabouts than anyone else on the fief. It made her *very* uneasy.  
  
"Excellent," said Gregory. "The two of you seem to have arrived thoroughly prepared for the task. We shall leave it to the experts." He smiled.  
  
"In the meantime -" Elise beckoned forth a maid. "Yuni will show you to your rooms. You must be tired from the journey."  
  
Numair nodded politely. "Thank you, my lady." At the moment, Daine couldn't imagine anything more tempting than a hot bath and a soft bed. "May I meet with your mages," he added to Gregory, "in... an hour's time?"  
  
Gregory nodded. "They will be assembled in the south wing."  
  
"Very good, my lord." He and Daine stood as the maid Yuni stepped forward. With a last bow, the mages took leave of Ravenpeak's overlords.  
  
The maid led them through airy halls and grand spiral staircases, impressing Daine further with Ravenpeak's wealth. The rugs underfoot were of the finest textiles and woven in intricate designs; large, arched windows lined every wall, draped with silken curtains; the castle's structure was supported everywhere by tall, stately pillars that seemed as much for decorative purposes as architectural. The finery, she decided, was inferential of a fief in excellent favor with two royal courts.  
  
Yuni stopped in front of a finely carved door at the end of a hall, across from a large window with a view of the courtyard. She handed them a large key, assumably to their rooms. Daine thanked her with a smile and a copper noble; the girl curtsied and fled, apparently unnerved by any tales she'd heard of them. Daine sighed, watching the girl's retreat.  
  
Numair noticed. "It must be you, magelet," he quipped, working the lock on the door. "Perhaps she's heard that particular narrative in which you confront all the gods in Mithros's court."  
  
"No, it must be you," she argued playfully. "I'm not the one who can move mountains with a word of magic."  
  
He chuckled and swung open the door; they entered. The spacious, high- ceilinged suite of rooms was all one might expect for widely renowned mages, and as refined and elegant as anything they'd seen in the castle. Large windows that looked out over the village filled the room with buttery sunlight. Their packs were already in the room, and looked conspicuously humble and worn in comparison. Daine dropped her cloak on the back of an elaborately carved chair and flopped onto the huge, four-poster bed with exaggerated relief, sinking into the silky pillows. She giggled as Numair followed suit, sprawling beside her.  
  
"I'm fair tempted to stay here the rest of the day," she sighed. "Never mind that the fief is under attack by nastily intelligent monsters."  
  
"I'd be happy to encourage the temptation," he teased, turning over on one elbow to face her.  
  
She scoffed, and he adopted a look of mock hurt. "Pray don't laugh at me, O lovely Wildmage." As if to demonstrate earnest intentions, he drew closer, until their noses nearly touched, and brought up a hand to brush Daine's cheek. Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. "Daughter of gods...." He kissed her gently, then pulled away, teasing, until she turned up her face for more. He kissed her nose tenderly, then found her lips again, venturing deeper, roving, until she was smoldering through and through. She sank a hand into his hair to keep him close, as though he'd escape her otherwise.  
  
With an act of will, she pulled away, gasping. He looked at her with concern, asking a silent question. "Not now," she breathed. "Really... we've work to do." Her eyes took on a sparkle. "I'll... I'll make it up to you, I promise."  
  
He smiled warmly and shifted away, keeping an arm around her. "Well, then, I suppose I have no other choice than to stop molesting you." He turned for a last kiss, this time quick and light, and she snuggled happily against him. They lay for a moment in silence, gazing up at the lofty, vaulted ceiling.  
  
"Ah, the joys of civilization," he murmured. "More than welcome after a week on the road."  
  
"Too right." She looked around the sumptuous room. "His lordship spared little hospitality, I see."  
  
He grinned. "It must be you."  
  
"No, no, it must be *you*." 


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Sorry it took longer than usual.... First the site was down, then my betas were *all* waylaid - which, actually, is still the case, so I'm taking a bit of a chance on this one; I hope there are no big problems. I may well revise later. As you can see, the plot's moving along! Exciting! And a bit unnerving... I hope it all works out.... As usual, I (ahem!) expect reviews, thank you very much.  
  
Chapter 4  
  
She must have dozed off in the lazy afternoon sun and the comfort of Numair's presence. She woke to find him gone, with her boots removed and the blankets tucked firmly around her. Sitting up with a yawn, she checked the sun's angle and decided she had been asleep a little over an hour.  
  
The bedside table bore a note in Numair's scribbly hand: "Sweet, I'm with Ravenpeak's mages in the south wing. Back in a few hours. There's a bath for you in the washroom. Go ahead and relax; there's little reason to hurry."  
  
She couldn't agree entirely; being completely out of touch with the hurroks she suspected hadn't given up on Ravenpeak made her nervous. Even so, she took Numair's advice for the time being. A porcelain tub was indeed waiting in the luxurious washroom off the main chamber, and even after her nap the water was still steaming - due in part, she suspected, to a handy little spell of Numair's. It made her smile. He was such a sweet man, putting his power to small, practical purposes as well as earth-moving workings. Dropping her dusty clothes in a laundry hamper, she indulged in a moderately long soak, sweetened by the fragrant bath oils she found in the washroom, to rid her of the road's grime. The bath was both relaxing and invigorating, but she forced herself to get out of the tub after fifteen or twenty minutes. She meant what she'd told Numair earlier: there was work to do here. She toweled herself dry, then went to her packs for clean breeches and shirt. Going out to the balcony, she settled onto a cushion-lined couch. May as well be comfortable if I'm not going anywhere while I work, she decided. A shadow of guilt fell on her mind: here she was, enjoying Ravenpeak's sumptuous hospitality, while her friends were fighting in the grim war in the north.  
  
With that in mind, she prepared to review the situation. Adopting a meditating position, legs crossed, hands palm-up on her knees, she sank into her magic. She still couldn't sense the hurroks, no matter how she listened - but perhaps something was wrong with her own magical abilities at the moment. It could happen, if she did too much at once or if her health lagged. She investigated this by testing them, starting with simple communication. She greeted every species of the local People, from combat steeds to mice scavenging in storehouses. They all resounded fully in her magical senses. Moving out from the fief, she reached to the animals of the surrounding plains; raptors, songbirds, rodents, and larger mammals alike felt completely normal. In the mountains, she found mountain goats, bears, and cliff-dwelling eagles - nothing was amiss. Returning to Ravenpeak, she asked various People's permission to ride in their mind. Again, she could easily slip in and out of every creature she tried, tame or wild.  
  
Returning to her body on the balcony, she began testing her shape- shifting abilities. She took on forms of every kind, from bear to sparrow to lizard, even stepping into the now-lukewarm bathwater to try out fish shapes. Animal shapes came and went as easily as ever, including parts of different animals simultaneously. Back out on the balcony, she heard a swallow with a twisted foot, the result of an encounter with a touchy tomcat. Calling the bird to her, she healed the injury with ease, sending the grateful swallow, Sundancer, on her way.  
  
Her range of magical skills was fully intact.  
  
Now, to search for the hurroks. She took her meditating pose once again and sent her magic out. Calling to the raptors of the surrounding plains and mountains, she asked their help as spies, giving them detailed images of the immortals she was looking for. The birds were happy to help; many had had unfriendly encounters with the hurroks, who apparently were a significant menace to the People of Ravenpeak as well as its human inhabitants. Daine told them to be careful - and *not* to fight the hurroks, only to look for them - then sent her spies off. Returning to the fief, she commenced questioning the local People. Many had seen herd-mates or family members carried off, and were more than eager to help Daine. They only confirmed what Windracer had said: the hurroks were no different mentally than mortal animals (to which they were naturally comparable). Yet, from the People's descriptions, their attacks on the fief seemed strategic, from their oddly regular formations to their judgement of the odds. And until their deadly encounter with Lord Gregory's men, they had not revealed the extent of their numbers, appearing in groups no larger than ten. It was as if they had deliberately lured Ravenpeak's men out to their trap, working a long-term strategy. And after the attack that brought Daine and Numair down to Ravenpeak, they had disappeared completely.  
  
The more she heard, the more bewildered and frustrated Daine felt. From all the reports, these hurroks were no more intelligent than could be expected of their kind. Even so, they had somehow managed to plan strategic attacks on Ravenpeak. The only possibility, it seemed, was that they were in fact being used by an enemy mage. She'd have to wait for Numair's report on that; if there were other mages commanding the hurroks, he would know.  
  
Her raptor spies returned, calling warnings: they'd spotted about thirty of the monsters in a loose group in the plains. The birds gave measurements of distance in various units, most related to the species' flight distance per day, but with a few calculations Daine could get an idea of how far away they were.  
  
The result made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. According to her scouts, the hurroks were in the plains five or six miles away - well within her range. Yet not a sign of them registered on her magical vision, no matter how she searched. She sent her spies out again to confirm the location; they returned shortly with the same reports and vivid descriptions of the monsters - part horse, part hawk, wandering about the plains bickering with one another or preying on the local People. The hurroks were no more than six miles southeast of Ravenpeak. She thanked the birds and sent them on their way, but her head spun. It was as if the monsters were in plain sight, but she was blind to them. She would be helpless to predict their approach, communicate with them, or peer into their enigmatic minds. Magically, her hands were tied. The thought induced touches of panic.  
  
Opening her eyes at last, she found Numair had returned from his conference. He was standing at the balcony railing, looking out over the village below and apparently waiting for her to return from her magic. He too had exchanged his travel-battered clothes for clean ones, and looked washed and groomed. The sun's position marked a few more hours' passage. Daine took a few deep breaths, inhaling the fragrant air and trying to calm herself enough to focus on his report.  
  
"Numair?" she called finally.  
  
He turned, startled, at the sound of her voice. "I see you've been working," he remarked. Crossing the deck, he took a seat next to her on the couch.  
  
"What news?" she asked, stretching out her legs - sore from being crossed so long - in front of her.  
  
He grimaced. "I talked with the mages. We haven't found out much more than what we already knew. Their scryings were correct. I scried myself, just to confirm, and came up empty. Besides us, there isn't another mage in a ten- mile radius, or a controlling device. The hurroks weren't being directed that I can see." He looked grimly at her. "I hope you have better news."  
  
"I wish I did." Daine bit her lip. "I talked to the People here. Those that talked with the hurroks say the same thing as Windracer - the falcon I healed. The hurroks weren't any smarter than they'd be normally. But - somehow - they *definitely* planned things. The way they attacked - in formations, and they were careful to attack where and when they'd be least likely found out." She took a breath. "I sent out spies. They say - they're *sure* - the hurroks are at most six miles southeast of here. Numair, I can't sense them at all, any more than I could before - but I *should*. They're well in range."  
  
His eyebrows snapped together. "Is your magic all right?"  
  
"It's *fine*!" she burst out, eyes blazing. "I tried out all the other things - shapeshifting, healing - I can do *anything* else, and I can sense all the usual People. But the hurroks - they're right under my nose, and I can't *see* them!" Her fear and frustration came through in her voice. "I've *never* seen anything of the like before. And right now, I'm useless. If they're about, if they decide to try another attack, I won't know. And I won't be able to talk to them, or see into their heads."  
  
"Daine...." He gathered her in his arms. She ducked her head, gritting her teeth to hold back tears, but he felt her quivering. "Daine, listen to me," he said gently. "Believe me, I know what it's like. There have been more times than I'd care to remember that I've found myself up against something I didn't understand, let alone know how to fight. Or when my magic gave out on me." He raised her face to him with a gentle hand. "It happens to *every* mage throughout his or her career. This is our job - to encounter new magical phenomena and bring them to light. And we *will* get to the bottom of this. Especially knowing you, magelet, as you've never come short of anything you put your mind to."  
  
She managed a crooked smile. "Oh, don't go giving out sweet words. It won't help us here."  
  
He silenced her with long fingers over her lips. "Daine," he continued earnestly, "in a way, I'd be more worried if you weren't so exhausted. True, your magic is otherwise functional, but sensing immortals is a different function of wild magic altogether. From a strictly - professional viewpoint -" a smile crept into his features - "I would advise that you get some rest and recuperate from your labors in the Scanran war."  
  
"You want me to lay about while the fief's under *attack*." She knew she sounded rude. "The hurroks could take it to mind to come back here any time."  
  
"In which event," he said reasonably, "you need to be able to confront them. Daine, look around. Ravenpeak is exceptionally well defended." She couldn't deny it; she knew of the fief's military reputation. "Ask animals of the plains to keep watch and inform you of the hurroks' movements. If they return, you *will* know, and you can alert the fief to arms. Ravenpeak is more than well prepared to fight off a hurrok attack inside its own walls."  
  
She nodded; it made sense. Despite her earlier cynicism, she took comfort in his words.  
  
"So in the meantime," he continued, "you shouldn't worry about Ravenpeak's safety. What you *should* do is relax and try to recover. *Professionally* speaking, you'll want to be in shape when and if the hurroks return."  
  
She relented, smiling tiredly at him "Yes, sir."  
  
He smiled and kissed her forehead. She rested against him as he stroked her hair, absorbing the calm of his steady breathing, taking comfort. The late afternoon sun had intensified, marking the beginning of its descent; a gentle breeze brushed against them. She might have fallen asleep in his arms - he was right, she *was* tired - but she made herself stay focused for the moment.  
  
"We should make our reports to his lordship," she reminded Numair at length. "Just tell him the hurroks don't have mage help, and where they are, and that I'll have scouts out to tell me what they're up to."  
  
He murmured agreement, still stroking her hair, until she shifted away. "I'll tell the plains and mountain People now - birds, I s'pose, to let me know about the hurroks."  
  
His eyes crinkled in amusement. "Always so eager to get away from me, magelet?" he teased. "I believe we were interrupted before as well."  
  
She reached out to shove him away jokingly. "Go on, you," she ordered. "I'll be just a minute - then we'll go down to meet his lordship." He bowed deferentially and retreated inside, leaving her out on the balcony. She closed her eyes and reached out again, this time to the hawks and eagles of the plains, asking them to keep an eye on the hurroks - but not to risk themselves - and keep her informed. They complied eagerly. Again, not being able to sense the hurroks herself alarmed her - she couldn't help feeling a menace at her back. But Numair was right: at the moment, there was nothing she could do about it, and nothing immediate to worry about. In any case, she'd be able to inform Ravenpeak of the immortals' approach, and they were well defended. And it was true - she was more worn-out than she had admitted to herself before being pampered by Lord Gregory's hospitality. She resolved to take Numair's advice and try to regain her strength before the hurroks returned. As long as she could do nothing else directly, it was in a way the most productive use of time.  
  
Returning for a last time to her body on the deck, she finally rose from the couch. Standing, a sudden wave of dizziness came over her, and she gripped the armrest, alarmed. The dizziness passed; her head settled. Stretching out to shake off the last vestiges of inactivity, she joined Numair inside.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Ravenpeak's lord listened attentively to their reports over his desk, nodding politely in acknowledgement. "All this within hours of your arrival," he complimented. "So the monsters were indeed not being directed by mages; and you've located them precisely."  
  
Daine nodded. "I have raptor scouts out in the plains, and they will keep me informed on the hurroks."  
  
"Excellent. But -" Gregory's brow creased - "I understood you yourself could sense them magically."  
  
Daine looked away briefly. "You understood correctly. No, I can't sense them right now." She steeled herself. "But there could be any number of reasons for this; my connection to immortals is a sensitive one. And I admit, after my work in the Scanran war, I am not as magically - in condition - as I would like to be. In fact, I can't say Numair is either."  
  
"His Majesty seemed to realize this," Numair admitted. "He had granted us a month's leave shortly before we were called there."  
  
Lord Gregory stroked his graying beard. "In that case, Master Salmalín, Mistress Sarrasri, you have done me an immense service outside your own convenience and health. On behalf of my family and people, I thank you." He ducked his head. "In the meantime, we invite you to dine with us this evening. It is a small recompense for your services."  
  
"On the contrary, my lord," Daine protested. "Your hospitality is extremely generous." Their luxurious guest suite was in truth more resplendent than she'd really care to call home.  
  
"We accept with pleasure," Numair added in response to the dinner invitation. "It is our honor."  
  
Gregory smiled. "We hope to show you the more recreational features offered here at Ravenpeak."  
  
"Thank you, my lord." The mages stood. "If you will excuse us."  
  
"Of course. Thank you." Lord Gregory had already turned his attention once more to the papers on his desk.  
  
Outside Gregory's study, Daine and Numair started in the direction to their own rooms. "He seems like a fine sort," Daine remarked. "Ravenpeak. The way he acts, with a care to his people and more than just feasting and dancing in his own castle."  
  
"Such is his reputation," Numair agreed. "When Ravenpeak's forces fight, so does he. Even the generals answer directly to him. When raiders came around last spring for livestock and goods, Gregory was in the front lines. They say he almost lost an arm once, to save some of the greener soldiers."  
  
Daine whistled. "Probably with the same attitude he serves the Crown. I can see why His Majesty said what he did, at the conference."  
  
"And that's why we're here," Numair reminded her. "Dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, not a week into our 'leave', and sent across the kingdom to fight these strangely evasive monsters." Seeing Daine's brow furrow, he added, "Magelet, I told you not to worry about it just yet. You *should* just be resting if the hurroks aren't around for you to fight."  
  
"I remember," she said dryly. "So here we are, lazing about in accommodations finer than Their Majesties' up at the palace, and invited to dine and dance with the lords and ladies while our friends fight King Maggot's forces up north."  
  
"Ouch. I would remind you, magelet, we *were* granted a delightful thing called leave. Even if it didn't exactly work out as we expected. As for dining and dancing, it's to be expected of our hosts - it's a basic tenet of civilized hospitality, not to mention we are working to defend Ravenpeak." They had reached their rooms; Numair produced the oversized key.  
  
Daine's brow returned to its now-familiar pattern of creases. "For tonight - I'll have to see the dressmaker, then." She groaned, scrubbing her face with her hands.  
  
"Lovely," he said wickedly as he held the door open for her. 


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Fluff. In literature, it's drivel. In fanfic, it's an art. Accordingly, I hope to please the tastes of such connoisseurs as you, my audience. *snicker* No, seriously.... Who ever thought I'd have the nerve to write that bit at the end? *shaking head*  
  
OK, heads up for this chappie cos it will be important later. Really! Big Revelations! OK, some important stuff, some fluff. You'll know which is which.;) And see, it's LONG! Worth the wait, huh? I hope so cos it wasn't easy; besides all the weighty dialogue the writing of this Ch involved a LOT of discarding, deleting & rewriting. Amazing, though - I swear that debate thing wrote itself. OMG PLEASE say you like Selene. I really hope she comes across well.  
  
Thanks: To Melody. Wow I am really amazed. UR my guardian angel. Hehehe they're "sensible about it"...  
  
I don't know if a disclaimer is technically necessary, but Sable is named after my friend Doris's cat.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Basic tenet of civilized hospitality or no, an elegant evening with the nobility of Ravenpeak had not been part of Daine's plans for their stay there. Such activities felt foreign and outlandish to her after a summer of fighting in the north - a battle, she knew, that was far from over. Not to mention the touch of guilt, despite Numair's assurances, at enjoying luxury while their comrades were still at war. And even after eight years at Court, events involving rich delicacies, gaudy clothes, bejeweled surroundings and the polished-yet-vapid conversations of the highborn did not suit her. She suspected they never would. Fame or no, grace from the Crown or no, power or no, she was the same old practical, stubborn, utterly common-born Daine. As clothes went, shirt and breeches suited her just fine, thank you very much.  
  
Tonight, however, it seemed she had little choice. In their suite she found a thoughtfully provided map and directory of the castle and used it to locate the seamstress's area, briefly soliciting the help of a noble pet cat named Sugar when she got lost in the extensive guest wing. There, the head seamstress of Ravenpeak, Mistress Weaver, briskly took Daine's measurements and presented her with a silk marvel of dressmaking. "We'll have it touched up a bit, and it'll be ready for the evening."  
  
Here, Daine could see yet another Tyran influence. Most ladies at Court wore pastels, but this was a deep blue the color of the Inland Sea. The dress's lines, instead of running vertically, seemed to spiral around the wearer, creating a sense of swirling even while stationary. A prominent seam in the bodice ran from right shoulder to left hip, where it met a large silk rosette; the waistline was lower, circling the hips instead of the figure's narrowest point. The frilly skirt looked to be full circle, but the petticoats under it would elevate only with centrifugal force - as in dancing. The neckline was moderately low in front, more so in the back, and wide, showing the shoulders. The sleeves were skin-tight to the elbow, then opened into generous ruffles of silk and lace nearly to the wrist. Despite the aesthetics, the prospect of wearing such finery made Daine grimace.  
  
Mistress Weaver noticed. "Is something wrong with it, Mistress Sarrasri?"  
  
"Call me Daine. And no, it's lovely. It's just -" she smiled crookedly - "I'm no lady, Mistress Weaver."  
  
The seamstress glanced at Daine's current attire. "That I can see, dear."  
  
Daine smiled in return, then studied the dress again. "Something so fine," she asked dubiously, "just for an evening?"  
  
"I see you haven't dined at Ravenpeak before. His lordship doesn't skimp on hospitality -"  
  
"I should have guessed," Daine mused, thinking of their guest suite.  
  
"That's why me and my girls keep busy, and keep ready. And tonight," Mistress Weaver continued, "he's entertaining quite a crowd - great folk from both sides of the border, and plenty of them."  
  
Daine grimaced further.  
  
Mistress Weaver looked both amused and sympathetic. "I'll send Tia up with the dress when it's ready, then. And she can help you with your hair, as well."  
  
"Thank you," Daine sighed, resigned.  
  
"You're welcome. If you'll excuse me, then. Like I said, we keep busy around here."  
  
"Of course. Pleasure meeting you, Mistress Weaver." She turned to go.  
  
"Likewise, Wildmage."  
  
Daine found Sugar waiting for her at the end of the hall. I thought you might need help getting back, the cat explained.  
  
She was right.  
  
~~~~~  
  
As dusk fell, a servant showed them to the same gilded parlor where they'd been received that afternoon. Mistress Weaver had informed Daine well: besides Ravenpeak's lord and lady, there were Roselda, a tall young man who seemed to be her current conquest, several other apparently Tyran nobles, and as many Tortallan faces present, all bedecked with silks and jewels fit for a royal ball. They filled the cozily lit room with a gentle buzz of conversation shot through with ripples of laughter. Had Daine been one to appreciate such elegance, she might have congratulated herself on her own appearance. Besides the dress, which Numair had complimented warmly, she had found a pair of sapphire eardrops in her pack, and had loosely pinned up her hair, mostly leaving it in a tumble. Now, admiring - yet restrained, she was happy to see - looks from a number of young men in the room reflected the overall effect.  
  
At the mages' arrival, a number of sleek and brightly-collared cats jumped off of silk-covered laps to approach Daine. She smiled and knelt to greet them, sinking into the depths of her blue skirt. If she was on the cats' elevation, there would likely be less damage to her appearance in their eagerness. The cats sniffed and rubbed against her hands.  
  
Welcome, said a midnight-black female. I am Sable. Enjoy the fish here; it's excellent.  
  
A cat of taste, Daine remarked. And thank you. That's one of the few People I *can* eat.  
  
"Such a delightful exposition of feline beauty to grace my lord's castle," she proclaimed aloud. "Surely the divine Queenclaw herself must smile on such enamoring children."  
  
She heard a smothered chuckle from above. "So eloquent," murmured Numair.  
  
"It's true," Daine insisted playfully, chin raised. "Don't you try and disparage feline accomplishments, Master Salmalín -- or you might find yourself a wee bit shredded." Briefly she extended feline claws from a hand, grinning. Upon retracting them, Numair reverently reached down a hand. She took it, favoring him with a dazzling smile as he helped her to her feet. He was looking *quite* fine tonight, she decided. Of the two of them, he was significantly more disposed to such formal events, and was infamous for the care he took in preparation.  
  
"So, the mages arrive," observed Lord Gregory, who had come to stand before them, "and make their presence known." His gray eyes twinkled.  
  
Numair bowed; Daine curtsied, sweeping out her skirt. Go back to your own humans for now, she urged the cats. It's a pleasure to meet you.  
  
Elise came to stand by her lord. "We're delighted you came," she told them. "We hope you enjoy yourselves amid your work here. You look lovely, my dear," she added to Daine.  
  
"Thank you, my lady," Daine said politely. "I only hope to affiliate with the splendor here."  
  
"Once again, we must thank you for your hospitality," added Numair. "My lord has demonstrated every aspect of his reputation -- particularly that of generosity."  
  
Gregory smiled. "In which case, I must uphold such a reputation. Come, sit. Make yourselves comfortable, and meet our guests."  
  
They took seats side by side on the same couch they'd sat on that afternoon. Daine smiled slightly; *now* she fit in with the elegance, at least.  
  
Lord Gregory introduced each guest in turn; Daine smiled politely, but didn't bother to hold on to the names. She was relieved when the nobles finally settled back to their talk, leaving her and Numair to one another.  
  
"Isn't this lovely," she remarked. She was now free to voice her thoughts, but kept her voice down. "Highborn company, furniture too fine to sit on, clothes I can barely move around in." Actually, corsets at least had never bothered her; she was slim enough that little pressure was necessary. The environment was another matter.  
  
Numair raised his eyebrows. "So cynical -- as always. Don't be so harsh. These, after all --" he gestured widely to their surroundings -- "are the privileges of the privileged class. Not everyone in the world has useful ways to spend their time as you think of it, magelet. And I would remind you, again, that until we have an immediate calling here, I consider us officially on the leave His Majesty intended." He grinned. "A little prodigality in the meantime can't hurt." He beckoned to a servant with a tray of drinks. "Wine, magelet?"  
  
"Not unless I have to," she said firmly. "Cider, please."  
  
"Wise." He took two cups and handed her one, smiling. "To a victory in the north, with minimal losses."  
  
She clinked her glass against his and sipped, then leaned back into the intricately embroidered pillows with a sigh. She couldn't deny that the war had been taxing. "I hope we're not expected to stay up all night," she remarked. "Maybe we can excuse ourselves and retire early."  
  
"An excellent idea." He looked at her warmly, making her blush. "I believe you have a relevant commitment to fulfill." Her blush deepened. Despite this, he leaned close as she watched him warily. "Have I mentioned," he murmured, "how lovely you look tonight?" His breath was warm on her skin; his dark eyes danced.  
  
She pushed him away, but her eyes sparkled in response. "I could tell you the same," she informed him. She glanced around the parlor. "And I think a fair amount of ladies here could too." She grinned as he looked doubtfully at their company. It was true; several women were looking in Numair's direction.  
  
"I believe I'm not the only object of attention between us," he retorted. Given her earlier observations, Daine couldn't deny it.  
  
"They can just flock to Lady Roselda there," she commented, eyeing the lady with distaste. From the look on the young noblewoman's face, she was -- at least for the moment -- enjoying her companion's attention. "I'm fair sure she wouldn't mind." The lady was wearing a low-cut scarlet gown to set off her dark coloring, and was engaging her current companion in animated conversation. "Doubtless that's why she hasn't married yet," Daine added, "seeing as it would be so... inconvenient. Or because a more respectable fellow might be fair reluctant, given her reputation."  
  
Gentle fingers brushed her chin; Numair turned her face to him. "You outshine her any day, magelet," he whispered, looking straight into her eyes.  
  
A servant appeared in the doorway. "My lords and ladies -- if it pleases you, your evening meal is served."  
  
They rose, and Numair gallantly offered his arm. With a smile, she took it and they followed their noble company into a resplendent dining hall. Crystal chandeliers glittered; the table was set with finest china and silver; the furniture was carved in intricate designs. Numair politely pulled out a seat for Daine, then took the one on her left. She spread a finely embroidered napkin on her lap and tried not to fidget, feeling suffocated with the finery and the airs of the nobles.  
  
Amid the chatter, servants brought out the soup course. Daine eyed it misgivingly despite its tempting savory odor, wondering which of the People were in it.  
  
"Squeamish?" Numair teased. Daine glared at him, then sniffed her soup.  
  
"It's just chicken. And that I can manage," she added, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Stupid birds. To my mind, they're not good for much *but* eating."  
  
Sable had returned, and jumped onto Daine's lap. I'll take anything you don't want, she offered.  
  
Daine grinned. "Your masters don't mind? Even you being such proper, dainty creatures?"  
  
They don't mind. Unless the guests see.  
  
Near the end of the soup course Daine heard her name called from across the table. She looked up; a young noblewoman (she looked to be about twenty) in a forest-green gown had addressed her. "Yes, my lady? Ah --" she'd forgotten the lady's name -- "remind me?"  
  
"Selene of Keridoth." Selene's bright chestnut eyes regarded Daine eagerly. "It seems I have the opportunity of speaking to Tortall's Wildmage."  
  
Daine smiled delicately. "The adjective modifies the magic, not the mage, Lady Selene." This was usually what she started with concerning her title.  
  
Selene laughed merrily. "Of all I've heard of you, Mistress Sarrasri, humor was not one of the foremost traits." Her voice was light, but with solid texture - like a cotton weave.  
  
Daine grinned in return. "Pray, my lady, what exactly *have* you heard about me?" The young woman didn't seem such a bad sort thus far.  
  
Selene leaned back, the sparkle in her eyes reminding Daine of Tilena's attitude that afternoon. "You have an unequivocal power with animals. In battle, you can have any creature in a ten-mile radius fight for you. You can yourself take on the shape of any animal. In the current war with Scanra, much of the intelligence regarding enemy forces and plans are compliment of your spies. Animals around you become wiser and learn to think on the level of humans. In the war, they often fight alongside Tortallan forces."  
  
She tilted her head to one side. "Your powers, which extend to immortals, made you a key player in the Immortals War. At thirteen, you helped defend Pirate's Swoop from a militarily superior Carthaki force intent on the capture of the queen and her children, summoning a kraken to defeat the naval forces. The dragon Flamewing, who was also involved, lost her life in the struggle and entrusted her dragonet to your care. At fifteen, you helped dethrone the corrupt ruler of Carthak, the Emeror Mage Ozorne. The coup d'etat involved devastating the imperial palace, particularly the national records, leaving Carthak with notable economic issues. At sixteen, your personal defeat of the stormwing king Ozorne brought Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, into physical manifestation, allowing the gods to prevail over her. In Mithros's court, you negotiated restraining measures on the immortals who at the time ranged freely between the realms, thus supporting the end of the war." Despite this show of expertise, Selene sounded more genuinely interested than pretentious.  
  
Daine raised her eyebrows. "Most don't know the part about Uusoae."  
  
"Word gets around."  
  
"I see. You're a mage, my lady?"  
  
"Yes." That was from Numair, who was regarding the young noblewoman with respect. "A fairly powerful one."  
  
"I'm honored, Master Salmalín." Selene ducked her head. "But you overestimate my abilities. My teachers say I'm not fulfilling my magical potential, that I could do much more with my Gift than I am." She looked away briefly. "They're right. I have little desire to be a mage in the field. I only wish to study magical theory -- outside my own personal duties."  
  
Daine studied the lady thoughtfully. The restraint of power she described spoke of a depth of character and an unusual viewpoint. "Such is a rare point of view, my lady," she told Selene.  
  
Selene smiled ruefully. "I know."  
  
Daine leaned forward earnestly. "You know, most mages I've met want all they can out of their power. It's all about training one's magic, mastering as many spells as possible, getting hired for major projects. For one to step back and put some thought to whether or not it's the best thing to *use* all their magic just because they can...." She smiled slowly. "I should say it's fair refreshing."  
  
Selene paused a long moment before speaking. "The former Emperor Mage of Carthak," she said slowly, "squeezed all he could out of his country, exploiting the people, manipulating his nobles and even those supposedly close to him, ordering all to grovel at his feet in awe of his power, until the gods themselves turned away from him. The Scanran mage Inar Hadensra -" her eyes flicked to Numair, assumably knowing of the mages' history in the Immortals War - "tore out his own eye for the power he could wield for it." The young woman's eyes hardened. "Thom of Trebond, the late brother of Alanna the Lioness, was the youngest living Mithran initiate. He passed the examinations for Mastery at seventeen; he was one of the greatest mages of his time. He raised Duke Roger of Conté, His Majesty's late uncle, from the dead, and met his own end at the Duke's plans surrounding His Majesty's coronation. Duke Roger, arguably the most powerful mage in the Eastern Lands, conspired to seize the throne himself, making several attempts on the lives of the royal family, as Lady Alanna exposed. After being raised from the dead, he conspired to dethrone His Majesty at the coronation, setting a great earthquake on the land though he knew it would mean his own life as well as those of everyone else present."  
  
"You know your magic history, my lady," Numair commented softly.  
  
Selene smiled grimly. "They say that those who know not history are condemned to repeat it. What *I* have learned as a mage - and dearly hope not to repeat - is that power -" she handled the word with both reverence and loathing - "can too easily be used for evil."  
  
Daine's jaw muscles flexed.  
  
"Too often, it brings grief to those who wield it, and those close to them, as well as to those whom they originally intend ill."  
  
"My lady," Daine said slowly, "I venture to ask: do I detect an - implication - that perhaps you have observed such a pattern in *our* work?" She glanced sidelong at Numair.  
  
Selene broke out of her solemn discourse. For the first time she looked startled, even horrified.  
  
"No!" She looked flustered. "I - I must extend my most profound apologies. Far be it from me to consider offending the mages I respect so highly." She sighed. "My father is right: I really must learn to express what I intend to without perverting the message. Master Salmalín, Mistress Sarrasri - what I am trying to convey is the extent of my admiration for your accomplishments." By now she looked like a child shyly addressing an authority, unsure of the merit of her own cause. "Given my studies, I believe I appreciate the magnitude of your own powers. And I have long stood in awe of your incomparably honorable conduct in such ascendancy."  
  
Daine raised her eyebrows yet again.  
  
It must have further unnerved the junior lady of Keridoth; her language decomposed. "Well - from everything I've heard of you - how you take such risks to serve the realm, your loyalty to your friends, even coming here to Ravenpeak - his lordship told us about it. What I'm trying to say is - I just can't believe I'm talking to you now." She was shaking her head. "I've always wanted to. Because you've succeeded so beautifully where so many mages less powerful failed - in not being poisoned by the power. Which is what drove *me* away from magic in the first place. I can't begin to imagine how you do it." She stopped, red-faced.  
  
Daine found herself smiling warmly, marveling at this revelation. Turning to Numair, she found his dark eyes dancing, doubtless reflecting Daine's own reaction to the endearing speech. Impulsively Daine reached across the table and took Selene's hands; the gesture seemed to fluster the young woman further. "My dear - please. It's not at all often that Numair and I are so honored."  
  
"That's one way to put it," muttered Selene. "Listen to me, babbling my head off when I finally do meet the greatest mages in the Eastern Lands - one of them a demigoddess."  
  
"My lady -" Daine continued persistently.  
  
"Call me Selene." Selene smiled crookedly. "No reason for pretension now. Given that eloquent salutation of mine."  
  
"Selene. Listen, I mean what I said." She looked straight into the other woman's eyes. "I can't remember the last time when Numair and I heard something so flattering from someone who knew what they're talking about as you do." She squeezed Selene's hands and released them, leaning back and smiling up at Numair.  
  
"You are wise beyond your years, Lady Selene," added Numair.  
  
"Pray drop the 'Lady,' Master Numair."  
  
"Then you must drop the 'Master.' Selene --" the mage leaned back in his chair, dark eyes thoughtful -- "what you realize is something that too many mages never do - such as the ones you mentioned. It's a tragic fact that people, when they get too much power in their hands, do indeed have a tendency to - turn bad." His face darkened. "In our youth, Ozorne once said he didn't care who suffered, or died, or both, if it got *him* something for their pains. And - as you obviously know - he lived up to that."  
  
"But what about you?" Selene wanted to know. "How do you manage the power?"  
  
Numair sighed. "Selene. one of the greatest risks we take as mages has nothing to do with the dangers of battle. It's just as you put it - being poisoned by the power. But in my case, I've seen more than enough examples of that happening, and I've seen the ramifications. Moreover, I've made my own mistakes in my career. The best I can do is to learn from them, and from what I see around me. And sometimes it is a burden, having the power to rip the earth open." His smile was twisted. "Not that I'm bragging. But when it feels that way, I just remind myself of my duty to the realm - my responsibility to use my power for the good of all."  
  
Daine nodded. "It's not so different with me. Truth be told, I'd say the *hardest* thing about my magic is seeing how my friends change because of me. You told me you know - they become smarter from knowing me. They come to know and understand things no animal should have to." Her eyes were grim. "I feel all the time I'm taking their innocence, but I can't stop my magic seeping into them. It's just how I am. You know -- I can put my will on animals, but I don't *like* to, because I'm their friend. And one thing you said is that I can have them fight for me. More often, I just can't stop them. They *want* to help me and my friends, and that's the truth. The only thing I can do is tell them the best way to do it. Even so, they get hurt and die, often. I always feel it."  
  
Selene watched her, wide-eyed.  
  
"That by itself makes me careful with my power," Daine went on, "-- that I might otherwise hurt my friends. You could say it's a give and take - yes, I always have the People - animals - ready and willing to help me, but at the same time I suffer when they do." She smiled wryly. "Does that answer your question?"  
  
"It tells me," Selene said slowly, "that I'm looking at two people as honorable and wise as those knights with their fancy gear and titles claim to be."  
  
They eyed her with reserved pleasure.  
  
"That's how you manage it," Selene concluded. "You can *judge* how to use the power, because you're simply not corrupt and greedy like so many mages become. That's the difference, then - it's *you*." She smiled, satisfied.  
  
Daine and Numair exchanged looks, then turned back to the noblewoman across the elaborately set table. "Thank you," they chorused simply.  
  
Their new friend grinned. "It's my honor, mages. Meanwhile, I believe our partridge is getting cold."  
  
It was true; the servants had long since set out the second course. Despite the elaborate presentation and tempting seasonings, Daine winced at the sight. "I think I'll pass."  
  
This led to a discussion of first Daine's reluctance to eat meat and how it developed, then of her wild magic in general, which Selene absorbed eagerly. Other guests joined in, all eager to hear from the renowned mages. Daine and Numair found themselves telling stories of their exploits over the years at their audience's urging, refuting falsehoods that many had heard of them and admitting truths - which, Daine had to admit, often sounded equally capricious. This was the usual routine that Daine typically found tiresome - but tonight at Ravenpeak, the nobles' regard for Daine and Numair's presence gave the mages more freedom to dictate the conversation. Also, some of the nobles were genuinely interested in what they had to say - none more than Selene.  
  
Thus the night waxed. As stars peppered the velvety black sky, elaborate pairs of doors leading to balconies were thrown open, admitting night-fragrant breezes. Musicians appeared, and struck up tunes as delightful and exotic as any other aspect of the spirit Daine had seen expressed at Ravenpeak. After the dessert dishes were cleared away, couples took to the floor in whirling, bold dances; Daine couldn't help but snicker at how often Roselda switched partners.  
  
Numair noticed her smiling freely. "See, magelet?" he whispered, leaning over her shoulder. "Maybe there's something to be said for diversion after all."  
  
She leaned contentedly against his shoulder, watching the dancers. "I s'pose I can't say it isn't welcome, after the summer. Though it would be just fine with me if we were at home."  
  
"But we're here," he pointed out, "amid the spice and spirit of Ravenpeak."  
  
"Enjoying his lordship's hospitality."  
  
"That being so - I won't let it go to waste." He grinned, standing, and seized her hands.  
  
"Numair!" she protested as he pulled her to her feet.  
  
Against her objections he dragged her out to the dance floor, where - amid the zealous encouragement of their fellow guests, they learned several Tyran dances. At length, she couldn't complain. After a half hour, however, she felt the approach of the same dizziness that had bothered her briefly that afternoon.  
  
Numair noticed immediately. "Daine? Are you all right?"  
  
She tried to smile. "I'm fine. Just - too much dancing." The room spun around her. Numair helped her to a seat along the outside of the room, and she sank into it gratefully. "I'll just need a minute," she told him. He nodded, eyes bright with concern.  
  
With a few minutes, however, her vertigo increased, accompanied by nausea. "It's fair strange," she told Numair, who was growing more worried. "I didn't drink anything - and I doubt my lord would let anything not fit to eat on the table.."  
  
"Maybe you should see a healer." He eyes were intent on hers.  
  
"No," she demurred. "I'll be fine, really. But, maybe... we might leave soon?" She glanced nervously around the room.  
  
"Of course," he said quickly. "I'll tell his lordship." With a final squeeze to her shoulder, he rose and briskly walked over to Ravenpeak's lord. After a few quick words, they both returned to Daine, who made an effort to compose herself.  
  
"I would be the last to detain you, Mistress Sarrasri," Gregory told her kindly. "I wish you a speedy recovery; should you require the services of a healer, merely inform any staff member in the palace."  
  
She smiled bravely. "Thank you, my lord. And I hate to leave such a delightful evening."  
  
"It is my pleasure to have entertained you," he replied with a smile. "Good night, Master Salmalín, Mistress Sarrasri."  
  
"Good night, my lord." Daine stood, with Numair's help, and curtsied with effort. On the way to the door, she spotted Selene across the room and smiled feebly.  
  
Once out of sight of the party, Numair swept Daine off the ground, cradling her against him. He shushed her valiant protests, and she rested gratefully against his chest as they navigated through the embellished, lamplit hallways back to their suite. Once inside, she eased off her shoes and let down her hair, shaking it loose, but didn't bother to change. At the moment she was more interested in getting comfortable.  
  
"Get some fresh air?" she murmured tightly, indicating the balcony.  
  
"Of course, magelet." Numair carried her out to the deck, where he settled her in his lap on the same couch that had seen their conference that afternoon. Daine sighed happily, resting in the comfort of his arms, and smiled to feel his lips brush the top of her head. She was content to sit in the peaceful night, the moon's lovely face shedding a pearly light on the world below. Cool breezes washed the flower-perfumed air; crickets filled the night with their delicate cheeping. Maybe it was the night's lullaby that soothed her ills - or maybe it was Numair.  
  
"Feeling better?" he murmured against her hair at length.  
  
Daine smiled up at him. "Infinitely."  
  
He smiled back and leaned down so their foreheads touched, keeping his eyes on hers. "I love you...." His whisper, meant for her alone, scarcely disturbed the night air. Keeping one arm around her, he ran his fingers through her moonlight-silvered curls. She reached up to twine her arms around his neck, gazing blissfully into the depths of his eyes, scant inches away. She heard his breath catch as the moment seemed to stretch out, frozen in time - then he closed his lips sweetly on hers. She fell into the kiss readily, one hand stroking the back of his neck, as her heart fluttered with blossoming delight. Distantly she felt his hand working at her back; the laces of her dress yielded, and the silk slipped away, exposing her creamy shoulders in the moonlight.  
  
She broke the kiss and pulled away, though not in protest. She could hear his ragged breathing, feel the pounding of his heart that doubtless matched her own. She leaned to whisper teasingly in his ear. "I believe we're in the wrong place, love."  
  
He grinned and stood with her in his arms, smothering her laughter with another kiss, and carried her inside. 


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Here be monsters. *cackles evilly* You know, I *meant* for this thing to be maybe 3500 words... grrr.  
  
I'm trying to figure out: can Numair incorporate his clothes in a shape shift? The books have evidence both ways. Also, can he do anything besides the black hawk? If you know, *please* tell me -- either in a review or email me. And btw, be kind or at least civil in your reviews cos I have a hired flame assassin & I won't hesitate to set her on you!!  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Midway through the night her dreams turned sour. She couldn't shake the feeling of an evil of some sort present, watching her from afar, planning. She dreamed of an oddly mixed flock of birds -- hawks, eagles, ravens, swallows, thrushes -- circling in a too-regular pattern over a point on the ground, crying in their range of voices, blocking out the sun with their wings, a cloud of feathered bodies. Daine strained to see what they were circling over as though serfs to it; she felt menace billowing from the spot, like smoke from a bonfire. She called out to her wing- friends again and again, but no reply came. That unnerved her more than anything - she'd never met People who answered to anyone before her. She had a foreboding that whatever had called the birds away from her now meant a bitter battle ahead of her, and that there was more here at Ravenpeak than strangely behaving hurroks.  
  
Frantic calls broke through the image. The birds' voices in the dream transcended to the real world -- with equal urgency -- as she sat bolt upright in bed, gasping in the darkness. Scrambling out of bed, she grabbed one of Numair's shirts and wrapped it around her, stumbling out to the balcony. Outside, she leaned out over the railing, gulping the fresh air and reaching out to her raptor friends. I'm here! What is it?  
  
Their answer was vivid and immediate. Those killing horses were racing across the plain on their vast bat wings, making for Ravenpeak in the moonlight. Now Daine could feel the anxiety of the fief's People as well. They sensed trouble coming; it was in the air. Daine soothed them as best she could and warned them to stay under cover, but her blood pounded in her ears. She had a very bad feeling about this, more than she'd ever felt with hurroks before. She still couldn't sense the monsters outside of her spies' reports, and again she felt that strange underlying malevolence. She couldn't tell whether it registered -- just barely -- in her magic, or if it was just her own premonition. Either way, she somehow knew that magically, she was up against something she'd never seen before, something that was not going to be pleasant.  
  
"Daine? What's wrong?" Numair had come to stand in the doorway, hair tousled, in a pair of breeches. Why is it, she wondered vaguely, that we're forever getting woken with emergencies in the middle of the night?  
  
Thoughts distant, she turned halfway back to the view, her profile lined with silver by the moon. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but terse. "They're coming."  
  
~~~~~  
  
It didn't take long to send a servant to rouse Ravenpeak's lord, and then to assemble and mobilize the fief's forces. Although the hurroks had made no appearance since their attack the week before, Gregory had wisely kept his men ready, in case they should need a speedy defense. Now, armed men -- particularly archers -- were soon being posted along the walls and sent throughout the fief they were to defend.  
  
Daine was flexing her bow, working limberness into it, when a servant knocked at the door. "Excuse me, sir, miss, my lord says to tell you he's up on the East Tower, and to report there as soon as possible." Daine thanked the runner, who hurried off again.  
  
"Numair?" she called. "Let's go."  
  
He returned from the balcony. "I was just scrying again, now that they're closer," he explained quickly. "Still no mages that I can see."  
  
Daine pursed her lips. She still had the feeling -- a persistent one -- that whatever was really behind these hurroks was something much more than any mage Numair might scry for. Her stomach turned over.  
  
"Daine? Are you all right?" He'd seen her eyes darken.  
  
"I'm fine." She tried to shake off her fears. "His lordship's on the East Tower --"  
  
"Daine." His voice was gentler. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you sure you can do this? You weren't feeling well yesterday.... I don't want you out there unless you're ready to deal with whatever we'll be up against."  
  
She smiled grimly and laid a hand against his cheek. "You'll have to trust me on that, love. But I *need* to be there. There's none that can deal with hurroks as I can. It's what I came down here for."  
  
He said nothing, eyes intent on hers. She knew he was torn.  
  
She pulled away. "Let's go," she repeated, grabbing her archer's gear.  
  
They went.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Lord Gregory looked gratified to see the mages as they crossed the deck to meet him. Archers lined the ramparts along with several other of Ravepeak's mages; similar forces were posted along the fief's walls. Torches had been lit throughout the fief, piercing the darkness. There were still several hours till dawn would touch the horizon.  
  
"We have archers and mages posted at elevated positions throughout the fief," Gregory told them, "to confront the hurroks in the air. In the village I sent out several squads on foot and horseback, should they attack on the ground."  
  
Daine nodded in approval, once more noting how the man earned his reputation: he sent out forces to keep the people safe. "Numair and I would best be off the ground, too," she told him. "May as well be here...?" She glanced back at Numair, who nodded assent.  
  
"Very well." Gregory's sharp eyes focused on hers. "What can you tell of the hurroks?"  
  
Daine bit her lip. "I still can't sense them myself," she admitted. "But --" she reached out to the raptors -- "my scouts say they're half a mile southeast." Involuntarily her eyes flicked away from to stare in that direction; a shiver raced up her spine. "We'd all best be ready."  
  
Gregory nodded and left to confer with his captains, who began barking orders. Grimly Daine strapped on her archer's wristguards, strung her bow, and tied her hair back. A touch on her shoulder made her look up; Numair's dark eyes were tight, silently speaking his concern. It was about the hurroks, she knew, and how she was still blind to them. For a moment, only to him, she allowed the fear and dread plaguing her to come through -- it was in the set of her jaw, tension around her eyes. Daine looked away. It was more than unnerving -- it was terrifying -- for her powers to be so impaired in the face of danger, when Ravenpeak was under attack - and *she* was supposed to be defending it. And he knew how she felt. For his understanding, at least, she was grateful. But right now, there was nothing either of them could do about it, and they had a battle to fight. She couldn't let the fear cripple her, not now. She looked up briefly at Numair, then shifted away slightly. She gripped her bow, feeling the comfort of its weight and grain. Here, at least, she had a means to fight.  
  
Her raptor spies called another warning; the hurroks were barely a quarter mile away. The People of Ravenpeak were bordering on frantic; the wind was blowing from the monsters' direction, sweeping in their blood- tainted scent. Daine soothed them best she could, wishing fervently she could assure their safety. But she knew that Ravenpeak's men would doubtless value the humans' lives first; she could only pray that the People would escape the hurroks.  
  
Shouts crossed the fief. The hurroks -- a flock of at least thirty -- came into sight, flying across the plains in a dark cloud and making straight for the fief. Changing her eyes into an owl's, Daine could see their moon-illuminated flanks laced with sweat, the powerful sweep of their giant bat wings, the hunger that screamed from those burning eyes. The People of the plains tensed at their presence, but the hurroks passed the wilderness by, homing in on Ravenpeak. Sweat broke out between Daine's shoulder blades; it was one thing to *hear* that the monsters were in her range and not sense them, and another for them to be in plain sight when her magical vision was blank of their metallic aura.  
  
She saw a captain on the southeast segment of the fief's wall -- Sarian -- signal to his archers, who raised loaded bows. The hurroks drew closer, the powerful flapping of their wings creating a pulsing wash of sound that grew louder with their approach.  
  
As they were just about to pass over the walls, one of the hurroks loosed a blood-curdling shriek. As if at a signal, the flock split into four equal groups: one raced along the walls to left, one to the right, one passed over the walls as anticipated, and one held back from the fief. Daine could feel the tension of everyone on the deck at the development. The archers along the walls started, finding the creatures suddenly on them. Sarian's men loosed at his command, but it was a split second late -- doubtless after the shock of the hurroks' move -- and shots faltered. The hurroks who had passed over them swept into the fief; the group behind them swooped down, huge raptor's claws extended. Several men, struck, went down; their attackers swooped into the night sky again. One hurrok took a struggling man with him; it rose into the air, then dropped the archer into the street from two hundred yards up.  
  
The group that had passed over Sarian's men fanned out over the village, falling on the soldiers throughout. But here were no archers; the hurroks could simply strike, then rise into the air again, out of danger. The archers along the walls were busy with their own attackers. Some of the monsters stayed close, to harass the men at close range; others rose high in the air, out of bow range, to move into the fief.  
  
Arrows whistled through the air. No further orders were issued; Ravenpeak's men simply fired as much and as accurately as possible. The archers and mages on the East Tower focused on the hurroks in the village, aiding the fighters on the ground as well as picking the targets within reasonable range. They themselves, however, were not yet under attack.  
  
At first it was like any battle Daine fought: she simply fired shot after shot, trying to hit swift-moving targets who remained perilously close to the men they were fighting. But amid the heat of battle, it made her blood run cold that these monsters were right at hand, viciously attacking the fief's defenses, and she knew no more of them than any other two-legger - mage or no - in Ravenpeak. She scanned them again and again, but they could have been stones for all they stirred in her magic. At last she decided to try and reach into them amid the fighting.  
  
She stretched out a strand of magic to a nearby hurrok circling over the village, and carefully wrapped it around him. With luck, he wouldn't even suspect what she was doing.  
  
Bronze fire exploded inside her head, swamping her. A whirlwind of furious voices screamed in her mind. She gasped and fell back, doubled over, clutching her head.  
  
"*Daine*?" Numair, on her left, dropped the magic he had been gathering and hurried to steady her. "What in Mithros's name -"  
  
She couldn't answer, barely felt his arm around her. She struggled to cut through the tornado in her head, reaching into it. What was *wrong* with these hurroks? They were saturated with another magic, most certainly not their own - an overwhelmingly powerful force. She was definitely feeling *their* magic as well - those were their hunters' voices - but it was amplified by, as well as mingled with, an alien power that she couldn't breach with her own.  
  
Suddenly she felt the magical tempest tense, as though it sensed something offensive, and condense on itself --  
  
And it was gone, vanished from her mind. She was back on the East Tower deck, kneeling on the flagstones, battle still raging around them. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she realized another vacuum; the hurroks' magic was gone from her senses, though she could see they were as flesh-hungry as ever.  
  
"Daine?" Numair's anxious face hovered a few inches away. "Are you all right? What just *happened?"  
  
She rested in his hold, bringing up a hand to try and soothe the pounding in her head. She tried to speak, but her throat was paper-dry. Numair handed her a flask of water, and she sipped gratefully.  
  
"The hurroks," she gasped. Her breathing was easier now, and she could sit up on her own. "I -- sensed them. Just for a moment. There's something else there, another magic *in* their magic. Something big. And I *think* it sensed me, and pulled away, so I couldn't feel it anymore."  
  
His eyes narrowed. "You're saying the hurroks' magic is enhanced -- so they *are* more intelligent --?"  
  
"No." She stood, slowly, with his help. "The other magic I sensed -- it isn't theirs. It's different. But I never saw anything of the like before." A tremor passed through her; so this was what she'd suspected, and again it was hovering outside her awareness. But still there, she knew. She drew a deep breath, steadying herself, and shifted away from Numair, gripping her bow again. "I'll -- try and look into it, later," she told him.  
  
He nodded and called for a healer. A young man, apparently an apprentice, came over and, taking Daine's hands, washed her veins with turquoise magic. The spell was invigorating; she thanked him and returned to the fighting. So did Numair, though she noticed he kept a much closer eye on her after that.  
  
At length a lone hurrok rose from the fighting in the fief below and sped towards the East Tower, twisting in complex flight patterns as it drew near to make it a difficult target. Several archers focused on it, but their arrows skimmed by. Daine set the beast in her bow sight, adjusting her aim to match its maneuvers. She was on the brink of loosing when pain ripped into her shoulders as a force slammed into her from behind, knocking her to her knees. The second hurrok who had attacked her pulled away, rising towards the starry sky, then turned and swooped down again. For a fraction of a second, the veil fell again, and the hurrok's bronze magic flared in her mind. Here, she felt that familiar malevolence, and a focus on Daine herself -- as if the hurrok *knew* of her specifically. Stunned, Daine struggled to get her bow up, but the pain in her shoulders dragged her down.  
  
A sheet or sparkling black swept up from the deck and wrapped around the hurrok, who burst into flame. Screaming its agony, it plummeted into the streets below.  
  
This time Numair would not be convinced of her welfare. He clearly wanted to stay by her side, but she pointed out firmly that his place at the moment was up on the deck, fighting. Instead, a runner led her to the infirmary, where she was surprised to find Selene among the healers. "I thought I should make myself useful," she explained. It was Selene herself who worked on Daine's injuries; her magic was a warm amber color, like late- afternoon sunlight. She cleaned the cuts, then healed as far as could be done and bandaged them carefully with a earthy-smelling salve.  
  
"You'll be perfectly fine," the young woman told Daine. She was in a much more practical forest-green gown than her velvet attire the night before. "You're healing very nicely, and that salve they showed me here is the best I've seen. Just stay out of the fighting."  
  
Daine smiled tiredly. "Thank you. You're a fair wondrous healer, Selene."  
  
Selene smiled shyly at the praise; then her look changed to one of concern. "Take care of yourself, Daine."  
  
She took a cushioned seat to rest in as Selene went back to work, mulling over what she'd witnessed. Something was very wrong with the hurroks; that was beyond a doubt. Something had been added to their magic, boosting it -- apparently to make them more intelligent. She'd *never* heard of such a transaction. She *thought*, at least, that she'd felt a power behind their own magic, but it felt completely alien -- she couldn't imagine what kind of source was behind it. The fact that she felt it at all indicated a force of wild magic -- but who, or what, was helping the hurroks? Perhaps -- she shuddered to think -- it was some god or elemental, then. Surely one of *them* could guide the hurroks like that. She didn't want to think of a god interfering on the enemy's behalf. What was worse, she'd *felt* that hurrok's ill intent towards her specifically -- either the two of them had some bad history she didn't remember, or worse, whatever was behind all this didn't wish her well. Whatever the case, her fears were being confirmed -- and she was as bewildered as before.  
  
The infirmary door flew open, admitting a very tall, dark, somewhat battle-mussed, anxious-looking mage, who strode over to Daine's side.  
  
"How're you feeling, magelet?" He glanced around the room; the healers were still busy tending the wounded. "What did they say?"  
  
"I'll be fine. I *am* fine. She just said I should stay out of the fighting right now." Daine nodded towards the noblewoman, who was setting a splint. "Selene."  
  
He studied the young mage for a moment before flopping his length down next to Daine with a sigh. He was tired, she saw; the shadows under his eyes as prominent as ever. "So it's over?" she asked, taking his hand comfortingly.  
  
He nodded, head tipped back against the wall. "It wasn't that bad. Ravenpeak lost eight, mostly soldiers fighting in the village. Pity we don't have more archers." His eyes were grim. "It's times like these when I *really* miss the Riders. Now -- about those hurroks --" he looked at her with concern.  
  
She explained her speculations. "I don't *know* anything for sure." She bit her lip. "I just have the feeling that -- there's *more* to it all. Something bigger."  
  
He sat back, tugging his nose thoughtfully. "About that power you sensed -- you said it didn't feel like any kind of magic you're familiar with?"  
  
"No. Not like People, or immortals, or gods -- that I've seen, that is."  
  
He frowned. "And we scried for mages. It *seems* there are none, but I wouldn't discount the possibility. There are countless illusory spells a mage could use to cloak his or her magic."  
  
She clenched her jaw. "I *hope* no god is coming into this. But I'd think my parents or the badger would tell me if one was."  
  
"It could be they don't know. Even Mithros and the Goddess might not. Often minor gods act without the consent -- or knowledge -- of their superiors." Daine made the Sign against evil. "But here, I doubt that's the case. We have no clear evidence either way, but it would be an extreme situation if a god *was* involved."  
  
Daine grimaced briefly as nausea rolled in her stomach. Must be the healing, she decided. Aloud she continued the line of thought. "We need to observe the hurroks up close somehow. Listen, I think I should go tonight. I can fly out. After what I sensed, just for a moment, I need to see if I can get into their heads again, and see what's going on."  
  
His head had snapped up; he was staring at her wide-eyed. "Out of the question."  
  
She scowled. "What's this?"  
  
A healer had noticed Numair's raised voice. "Sir," he called, "there are patients in here --"  
  
Numair glared at the man, then seized Daine's hand and pulled her out in the hallway. "You are *not* going off on your own to chase after those creatures. You're not in sound health, you've just been injured, and you can't fight twenty hurroks on your own." His voice was tight.  
  
She raised a stubborn eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Numair, I'm well enough to fly out to the plains. *I* should know. Remember that time in Port Caynn, when you were fretting over me even worse, and the killer unicorns attacked? I held my own just fine then. I can do it now."  
  
His fists were clenched. "Even with *normal* hurroks, you'd be a fool to go off against *twenty* of them. We don't even know what it is behind all this. And like I said, you've taken an injury."  
  
"Numair...." she took his hand. "It's like I was saying, the other day. I take my own risks. This is one I'm going to take. It's the best way, maybe the only one, to do my job here. I *have* to find out what it is with these beasts."  
  
He was silent for a moment. Then, "At least wait until you're stronger."  
  
"I can't wait. Gods know what they're planning. Time is what I can't give them. As for the wound --" she opened the infirmary door and called, "Selene?"  
  
The young woman came over, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes?"  
  
Daine explained the situation. "Do you think I'm fit to go?"  
  
Selene considered. "Medically, I wouldn't hold her. And to be honest, I think a lot of people are anxious to find out what's going on with these monsters." She smiled sympathetically at Numair's dark look. "I'm sorry. But she should be fine. Now if you'll excuse me?" She indicated the room behind her and hurried back to her work.  
  
"There," said Daine, satisfied. She raised her eyebrows, challenging any argument.  
  
He drew a breath. "I'll shape-shift and go with you."  
  
She shook her head. "They'll know you're not a real hawk. With luck, I can pass as one. Besides, I don't think that hawk shape of yours is the quickest in the air, and you're not as good at maneuvering. No offense."  
  
"Daine... I don't like it."  
  
"I know you don't, and I'm sorry. But we don't always like everything we get."  
  
He glared sulkily at her. "You're too gods-curst reasonable."  
  
She laughed and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "With you, *someone's* got to be the voice of reason. Now, let's go tell his lordship."  
  
Gregory was still up on the East Tower, conferring with his captains. He turned at Daine and Numair's arrival, and listened intently to her plan.  
  
"I must thank you again, Wildmage, for your selfless services here," he said gravely. "Gods go with you. Shall I send a relief force after a time?"  
  
She considered, biting her lip. "I don't think so, my lord. I should be back by dawn. And thank you."  
  
"Thank *you*, Mistress Sarrasri. If you will excuse me?" He returned to his conference.  
  
Daine drew to the ramparts. Below, the fief was only slightly battle- roughed, and the dead had been cleared away. The movement of the constellations overhead indicated a couple of hours til sunrise. Daine took a deep breath, readying herself. A falcon shape would be best; she'd have the hunter's weapons, and it was the fastest thing in the air that she knew of.  
  
"I'll just go from here," she told Numair. "Get my things, will you? And meet me on the balcony? Of our room?"  
  
He nodded gravely and drew her close. "Be careful, Daine," he whispered. "If you come back with so much as a bruise, rest assured that you will answer for it."  
  
She laughed softly. "Don't fret," she told him. "Those monsters had best be afraid of *me*."  
  
"That's my magelet." He smiled ruefully, then turned up her face to kiss her gently. She savored the kiss, not caring who saw, drawing on his love for strength. At last she pulled away. "I have to go."  
  
He nodded tightly and stroked her cheek. "Goddess go with you, magelet." After a final, quick kiss, he released her.  
  
Facing the view grimly, she jumped, taking shape in the air; her clothes dropped to the floor. Clad in pale grey feathers, with a raptor's ripping beak and claws, she took to the air and sped away into the night, leaving Numair alone on the deck. 


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: shamefully short, I know.... just a quick little update. I don't usually respond to reviews in the story text, but this is for a_lady_who's_sure: I don't know whether I've been more stunned by your praise and support or frustrated that I can't contact you! Why not leave a signed review, OK?  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Soaring over the fief, Daine changed her eyes to an owl's for the time being, and was pleased to see the land below illuminated in her night- wisdom, as the People called it. An owl would not be as well equipped for defense against the hurroks, though; she kept the rest of the falcon's body. It was a grim prospect.  
  
Meanwhile, she wasn't completely sure what exactly she was looking for, much less what she could reasonably hope to accomplish. All she wanted were answers -- answers to what these hurroks were doing, what was behind them, if something was, and what that strange magic she'd felt briefly was. High over the plains, she called out to her scouts once more.  
  
It seemed to take them forever to reply, finally giving her a vague location -- about a mile north. *This* was strange, the birds being less cooperative than usual. She called again, asking to their welfare, but they said shortly that they were fine. Their reluctance stuck in her head even as she tried to focus on her task; it seemed almost as though they didn't want to talk to her. She prayed fervently something had not come between her and the People. Her stomach twisted. More and more she was finding bruises in her power. The thought made her want to hide.  
  
In the meantime, she still couldn't sense the hurroks, though ordinarily they should have been screaming in her senses. Now they came into her sight -- about twenty survivors after the battle -- scattered over the plain, some wheeling in the air. The birds' reports yesterday had been correct; the monsters were indeed fighting one another. Claws and teeth inflicted cuts that stained their hides red.  
  
Daine paused as she drew closer, watching the hurroks trotting about the plain on huge claws that tore gashes in the earth or pushing through the night air on their great leathery wings, tossing their heads and screaming challenges. It's their nature, she reminded herself. Even after all her years of experience with such immortals, the sight of such creatures -- so physically perverted, so naturally malicious -- made her recoil. Now, the sight of them again, when she still felt no trace of their bloodthirsty magical selves, made her heart falter.  
  
Grimly she shook off the fear and drew closer. As a falcon, she'd probably be faster than the hurroks, if it came to that, and more maneuverable given her form and size. Still, she was not about to plunge into battle against such a large herd (or flock? she wondered with vague amusement). It would be best that they didn't know she was about, and hopefully she could reach into their minds, as she'd tried before, without them sensing her presence. Immortals, she knew, could communicate with the People -- and she didn't want them to suspect she was anything more than a normal bird. She'd have to play the part, then. First, she sorrowfully relinquished her non-falcon eyes. Letting the raptor shape take over, she sank into a falcon's being, letting thoughts of hunting and soaring over the plain rise to the surface of her mind. This was something she'd developed over the years, adopting an animal's spirit as well as its body. Often the People were thoroughly convinced she was one of them before she lowered the veil; she hoped it worked similarly with the hurroks.  
  
Now Daine was practically on top of the hurroks, soaring above the mountain-seamed plain. She forced herself to circle casually above them, ignoring the pounding of her heart. The beasts were just a dive away, and she still couldn't feel them -- as if they were closed off to her. She dropped some air from her wings and wheeled closer.  
  
Suddenly, a tickle registered at the back of her mind. The hurroks? She scrutinized them again, then focused on the magic she sensed, trying to draw it out. No, it was certainly not hurrok magic as she would recognize it. It didn't even seem to be coming from them -- rather, it seemed to generate from a point to the southeast, closer to the fief. She banked and headed in that direction.  
  
She followed the sensation, which grew stronger as she drew towards its point of origin. She was over the soaring sandstone peaks now, flying along the rocky spine. The strange magic hummed in her senses. She only knew it wasn't the People, or any other immortal she'd encountered. This power felt more silvery, yet hard, like steel. Memory flared: this was what she'd felt that moment on the East Tower -- at the heart of that magical whirlwind she'd sensed. This was what was beneath the hurroks' magic, strengthening and enhancing it. The Wildmage flexed her wicked claws. *This* was what she was fighting here at Ravenpeak. She was drawing nearer to the source.  
  
The steely magic flared up like a bonfire heaped with kindling. She stopped, pulled up short above the craggy cliffs. There it was -- that malicious force. It was radiating from somewhere in the mountain directly below her. A cave? She flew to the edge of the cliff and swooped down, studying the choppy side of the peak. The steely presence hummed and pulsed.  
  
After perhaps twenty minutes of searching, she spotted a recess at the base of the stone face. There -- behind a clump of sagebrush sprouting valiantly out of the rock -- it seemed there was a large boulder pushed into a gap in the mountainside. Examining it, Daine decided it was indeed a cave entrance, blocked off by a formidable ovular piece of stone. This was definitely not a natural occurrence; and she felt that alien magic surging inside, like the dancing flames of a fire. Now to get inside -- maybe if she changed back to human she could move the boulder....  
  
Something phantom-like yet persistent brushed her mind, a finger digging through her consciousness. She clapped falcon wings to her head, trying to brush away the obtrusive probe. When the feeling vanished, she was trembling. Something had breached her magic, searching her. Who it might have been -- and what they sought to find out -- could not be good.  
  
A feral scream from behind her cut through her thoughts like a dagger. Daine spun around to find a hurrok, away from its herd, swooping down on her. Her breath froze in her throat -- no time to get off the ground -- the hurrok would be on her --  
  
Through the panic, she snatched at a wildcat's form and bounded off across the moonlit plain, underneath the hurrok's line of flight. She heard it scream its frustration and rage; she knew without looking back that it had banked and would be chasing her. She couldn't outrace it on the ground, could she? Sneaking a look back, she saw it eating up the distance between them, wings the size of bedsheets breathing a *whoosh* sound with each beat, yellow eyes burning like beacons in the night. It screamed again, baring cruel predator's fangs.  
  
Daine's blood pounded in her ears. She didn't have a chance on the ground. Coiling her powerful muscles, she leapt from the sun-yellowed grass, taking shape in the air as before. Once more a falcon, she grabbed at the air with angled wings, speeding away from the hurrok. It screamed once more with twice the fury, seeing its prey escape. Daine's mind settled somewhat with the knowledge that she was faster in the air, and she could outmaneuver it if necessary.  
  
More hurrok's calls rent the air. Her head whipped around involuntarily, her skin prickling. Four more hurroks had joined their herd-mate and were speeding toward her with equal intensity. Two of them gradually move out to the sides, cutting off her escape. Fear chilled her as she realized they were boxing her in. More, they were herding her back towards the rest of the flock.  
  
Thank the gods I'm a falcon, she thought. She cut her speed and dropped straight down. Diving was what falcons did best; they could reach unimaginable speeds. Now, she dropped away, and her pursuers swept on overhead, carried on by their momentum. Daine pulled up in the air, flapped back to an elevation to take advantage of the wind, changed her eyes to an owl's, and headed back to Ravenpeak. The fief's sandstone towers were pale in the moonlight, standing out from the surrounding plain like a beacon. Daine's breath caught as she prayed fervently to her parents and any god who would listen to let her reach safety before the hurroks caught up with her.  
  
Another hunter's scream *very* close behind her told her that the gods had missed the appeal. She could feel the wind from their wings now, smell their putrid stench of old blood and long-dead meat. She risked a look behind her.  
  
It was not a wise choice. The movement bruised her speed and balance. She cursed mentally and flapped harder to try and pick up her lost speed; a hurrok screamed its triumph --  
  
Pain seared her back as the hurrok swiped her with its claw. Desperate, she dove again, dropping a dozen yards below her attacker. Faintly she knew she had taken a bad wound; she felt blood creeping through her feathers. She flapped harder, and for an agonizing minute sped on the fuel of adrenaline, torturously managing to put her pursuers behind. She was a mere two hundred yards from Ravenpeak now -- surely she'd make it. Her beak gaped in a raptor grimace as the pain of her wound gripped her. She'd lost so much blood, and flown so hard... her wingbeats began to falter and she gasped for breath. I can't die, she thought frantically. I promised Numair. Goddess strike me down if I don't come back to him.  
  
And then, somehow, she was passing over the proud walls of Ravenpeak, and the hurroks on her tail screeched their fury but fell back from the archers still lining the ramparts. She was dizzy now, faint from blood loss and fear and exertion. She could barely keep her wings moving; surely she'd tumble from the air any moment now. She almost laughed at the maternal voice scolding her in her head: you'd better not let him see you like this!  
  
But there was no where else any divine force could have gotten her to go. She struggled to focus on the castle, navigating around its countless towers. Why did Gregory's castle have to be so gods-curst *complicated*? Her head was spinning now.  
  
But then there he was, standing on the balcony at the railing, waiting for her. A sparkling globe of magic overhead lit the deck; she saw his eyes light at the sight of her, and he leaned forward over the railing. For a moment she doubted she'd make it; darkness flared across her vision and her ears roared. But if she fell here, there was nothing between her and a very long drop. Just one -- more -- wingbeat --  
  
She took it and fell the last few yards to him, succumbing to the ordeal. He caught her gently and she melted back into her human self, slumped in his arms on the cold flagstones, her blood staining his clothes, limbs pale in the moonlight. 


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: I was shocked to see how many of you actually doubted Daine's chances of survival after the events of Ch. 7. Jeez. Can you really imagine me even *thinking* about killing her off? *shudders* But in any case, her adventure at Ravenpeak is far from over! The plot thickens.... And sorry this took SO long, but ff.n was down forever & then it was just not... working!!  
  
Dear God, has EVERYONE read the Trickster's Choice excerpt? Well, I'm not saying anything, but try and keep your predictions off the review page, for those who haven't, okay?  
  
You know, I originally meant this to be the second half of Ch. 7, but I wanted that ending... and then it was going to be the first part of this ch, but it was too long... oh well.  
  
Thanks: to Melody. What would I do without you?  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Hovering just below the surface of wakefulness, she knew she was safe. Bundled in softness and warmth, with a peaceful silence resting in her ears. It would be a shame to leave such security, but she had business to attend to. Regretfully she pushed her eyes open, bit by bit, to greet the conscious world.  
  
Her arrival was received immediately by a familiar voice not far away, growling, "If you weren't in such critical condition, magelet, I'd *throttle* you."  
  
She sighed inwardly and blinked several times to clear the cobwebs of sleep from her eyes. Why was everything so bright? There was a window -- or some source of light -- behind the speaker; he was outlined in and obscured by the glare. She was in an airy individual room of the infirmary, pleasantly furnished and warmed by the afternoon sun. As her vision cleared, she saw that it was indeed Numair seated by her cot, looking as though he had yet to sleep or eat, and he was furious.  
  
She made a face and tried to protest. Her voice came out in a croak. "I'm not in critical --" Attempting to sit up, pain lanced through her back and she fell back against the pillows with a grimace.  
  
He stood, looming over her and staring daggers. "*See*?" His voice rose. "Don't even *dream* that I will stand for this; you've denied more than enough by now and I am thoroughly --"  
  
"Numair!" That was Selene, in the doorway. She was in the same simple wool dress and apron Daine had seen her wearing the night before, and was looking sternly at Numair. "Calm down! She just woke up. She doesn't need you yelling at her when she's got a ways to heal." Striding over to Daine, she tenderly tucked the bedclothes back in and handed the Wildmage a cup of water. "Drink this; you must be parched. How do you feel?"  
  
Daine smiled crookedly. She couldn't resist. "Wondrous."  
  
Numair's mouth fell open. "Do you *hear* her? She nearly got herself *killed*, and she's going to sit here and tell us --"  
  
"Keep your voice down!" snapped the healer. "How would you like to wake up with a gash down your spine and have someone add split ears to the list?"  
  
"And you!" he shouted accusingly at the young noblewoman, ignoring her admonishment. "How *could* you? 'Medically, I wouldn't hold her' -- What in the name of Mithros were you *thinking*?"  
  
"I'm going to be fine," Daine told him mildly. "Thanks to Selene. Her healing's doing wonders. Unlike oaths."  
  
This apparently had no effect. "Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith!" The air in the room seemed to crackle.  
  
Selene crossed her arms. "I stand by my judgement, Master Salmalín. She *was* medically sound at the time; otherwise I never would have let her go. I assure you, I am equally concerned about the Wildmage here; but you have to admit, her condition at the time is irrelevant to the fact that she was injured *during* the expedition." She looked down at the patient in question and added, "I'm very sorry, Daine. That wound does look nasty."  
  
"See?" Daine told her lover. "Listen to Selene. I got hurt *even though* I was fine at the time. It's not like this is some potential problem that got worse because I went out."  
  
"Oh -- and I suppose you're going to tell me that an injury beforehand had no effect whatsoever on your agility and speed in the air, when you were trying to *evade* further injury!" He glared at her.  
  
"If you'll *listen*, I'll tell you why I couldn't have known ahead of time this would happen," she said patiently. "Can I *explain*, please?"  
  
"*May* I," he corrected automatically, then seemed furious with himself. "Yes, I would be more than eager to hear a justification of your -- foolhardy venture."  
  
She sniffed in disdain. Selene broke in. "Ah, before you commence your contention, I'd like to tend Daine. Now that you're awake, you get to take this." She produced a vial of some suspicious-looking liquid and poured some into a cup on the bedside table.  
  
"Lucky me," Daine muttered, but she downed it. Next Selene took her hand, and her honey-colored magic made an aura around them, seeping through Daine. The cruel smarting in her back receded almost instantly. "Amazing," she murmured, sitting up easily. She looked gratefully at the young mage. "A lot of people in the world are going to be fair grateful to have you around."  
  
Selene's face darkened suddenly; her eyes flicked down. "Maybe," she said quietly, and briskly gathered her things. "Just rest, all right?" she told Daine. "Don't try to move around. I'll leave you two to talk now." She left the room.  
  
Daine frowned after her, then sighed in understanding. It was the magic. Selene didn't want to use her power on a large scale for fear of becoming a slave to it. "I worry about her," she said aloud. "The poor girl not knowing which way to go, afraid of her own magic...."  
  
"Daine...." He was seated again, rubbing his temples with one large hand and looking tiredly at her. "At the moment I am somewhat more interested in *your* judgement, in light of a certain recent turn of events."  
  
She lifted her chin defensively. "Of course. Here it is...." Her eyes flickered suddenly, and she turned her gaze away. "Like I said, I can actually pass as one of the People, if I try. To *them*. Normally they can tell I'm different because of my mind, and my magic -- but I can hide that. Last night, I made my thoughts like a falcon's. I was flying right over the hurroks, and they didn't guess anything was amiss. Then I -- I sensed this other magic. It was the exact same thing I felt on the East Tower that once, the power *behind* the hurroks' magic. I know it was. And remember how I said I thought it sensed me then, and pulled away? Well, out in the mountains I followed it to where it was coming from -- some cave, blocked off by a stone. And then --" she bit her lip -- "I felt something in my head. Like it was searching my mind, digging through it. And I guess the hurroks knew after that. They came at me." She looked up at him grimly. "And the way they chased me -- they boxed me in, working together like they'd never do normally."  
  
He was now leaning back, thoughtfully tugging on his nose. "Incredible. So this force -- this power you felt -- you believe is supporting the hurroks to make them more intelligent...."  
  
"And stronger, magically. That's why I felt it so strong on the East Tower last night."  
  
"So they are in fact being directed," he said grimly, "but not by a mage as we anticipated. This magic behind the hurroks -- or rather, its source, if we may consider a sentient entity at the center of this -- is aware of your presence magically. Moreover, it -- probed your magic, apparently discovering that you were in fact not a real falcon -- which it relayed to the hurroks, and they attacked you."  
  
She nodded, lip curling bitterly. "And I still have no idea what it is. It doesn't *feel* like anything I've seen before." She huffed softly. "Wild magic. You can never know everything about it, even when you're a wildmage yourself." She fingered the badger's claw at her throat, recalling what Numair had taught her over ten years ago.   
  
"But about the hurroks... you still couldn't sense them?"  
  
"Not a bit," Daine said darkly. "Still, I don't think *they're* any different than normal. All hurroks have magic, and I should feel it. I think it has something to do with that *other* thing out there, that's directing them. I don't know what exactly."  
  
"Wild magic," he remarked. "It's called that for a reason."  
  
She nodded, thinking hard. "Maybe... somehow, it was cloaking their magic. Blocking it from me. Or maybe just *its* magic being there made it impossible for me to feel it."  
  
"As in, a neutralizing force?"  
  
"Or maybe the strength of its power just -- blinded me from other magic." She frowned. "Though I could feel the regular People's magic. And -- there's something else. I couldn't even sense that other magic -- whatever's behind all this -- until I was out there in the plains. Close up. But I know *where* it was coming from, where I could feel it strongest. It was in a cave in the mountains. But it's *in range*, and I can't feel it from here."  
  
He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "This is not good. So, you can only sense this -- this other force or being at close range, and evidence indicates it is behind the irregular behavior and magical properties of the hurroks, namely, that you are magically incognizant of them, their power is enhanced, and their actions are being directed, such as their strategic attacks. Also, the power you sensed in the plains recognizes your magic, but it is unfamiliar to you."  
  
"That's right." She looked down at her blanket-covered legs and added quietly, "I have to... figure this out. I know that wild magic is called that for good reason. But it is *not* going to best me here."  
  
He smiled wearily. "I don't think anything ever will, magelet."  
  
"We should ride out there," she continued. "I'll want to try and look into the hurroks again, maybe. And I'll definitely go to that cave again." Her eyes tightened.  
  
"Daine," he said warningly, "you are not *stirring* until you are properly healed --"  
  
"I didn't mean right now, dolt."  
  
"I would think not!" He arched an eyebrow sternly at her. "*This* time, I assure you that you are not going anywhere until you are in a medical condition to do so, and I will not be convinced otherwise if that is not the case."  
  
She glared back at him, digesting the challenge for a moment, then said tightly, "Tomorrow."  
  
"Not a chance."  
  
"Selene'll see that I'm well healed."  
  
"In a day? With a wound like that? Ludicrous."  
  
She considered. "Two days."  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
"Numair, I don't want those hurroks and that -- whatever's out there -- to try something nastier while I'm sitting about."  
  
"I don't care."  
  
"And you call me foolish."  
  
"I can hardly recommend charging out there again with a fresh gash on your person. Think about it. Will you accomplish much in this state, given the task? Or might it be marginally more efficient, professionally speaking, to wait until you are well enough to properly implement your powers?"  
  
She raised her chin and looked away, refusing to raise the stakes.  
  
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bed, and looked her in the eye. "Three days," he gritted, their faces less than a foot apart. "*If* by then the healers judge your wound to be fully healed, and you in the shape you were in upon arrival at Ravenpeak. I'm one more *accident* away from packing you up and shipping you back home, out of danger, regardless of the situation here."  
  
"If you could." She sneered. "Remember who you're talking to, *mage*."  
  
"*Daine* --" He ran his hands through his hair, releasing a heavy breath through clenched teeth. "Don't you understand? You could have easily been *killed*! Does that mean anything to you? Or are you just determined to run out there time after time without regard to the risk?"  
  
There was a tense moment of silence.  
  
"First," she said slowly, "I wouldn't be so quick to say I don't understand the danger. Do you really think I could have come this far without learning? Be reasonable. And second, I'm not the only one here who takes risks, big risks, in this line of work. D'you think *I* don't worry about you? Take the war -- yes, everyone's very impressed by your earth-moving spells, but it takes a fair toll on you. More often than not you drain yourself in the fighting, with not much thought to your own health, and afterward you practically need someone to hold you down long enough to rest and get your strength back. Do you think I'm happy about that?"  
  
He was silent, digesting this as one might spoiled milk or the sourest of sour apples.  
  
"I told you before," she continued. "On the road. You take risks, and so do I, and it's not fun and games, but that's how it is. And you can't scold me for going into danger. I have a lot of power, and I've a duty to use it for the good of the realm, just like you."  
  
He sighed heavily, resting his head in both hands. "Well, what can I say to that?" He laughed bitterly. "I can never out-argue you, magelet. And you're certainly right that it's not at all fun and games." He looked up at her, dark eyes pained. "I just can't bear it when you're hurt, Daine."  
  
"It's not your fault," she protested, throat thick.  
  
"Easily said. *I* led you to where you are now. If you hadn't chosen... me, and the life of a mage...."  
  
She shushed him. "Please, don't say that." Her eyes burned. "You know it was *my* choice, and it's always been. And if the gods gave me a chance to -- go back, and do things differently -- I'd never change a day."  
  
He looked tormented. "I couldn't..." his voice was thick as well. "I can't lose you."  
  
She took his hand, blinking back tears. "As long as we're both risking our necks for Tortall," she told him, "we'll be risking them *together*. I'll always be out there with you in the field, in just the same danger as you, and that's that."  
  
He smiled thinly, stroking her palm with his thumb. "And I'll always be here to fret whenever you go off on some imprudently brave mission in service to the realm, and to welcome you back."  
  
"And yell at me a little," she added, smiling in return.  
  
"That, too," he admitted. "But think how much *more* imprudent you'd be without the prospect of the yelling."  
  
She held his gaze. "I'm not going anywhere, love," she told him, blue- grey eyes shining with the promise. "Ever." Then she smiled and shifted away from him. "Come here." She patted the bed next to her, looking up at him warmly.  
  
With a sigh, he pulled off his boots and stretched out next to her, feet nearly hanging off the end of the bed. She rested happily against him, grateful for the comfort of his arm around her. "We never got that resting and relaxing," she murmured, realizing how tired she was.  
  
"Unfortunately not. Certain emergencies called our attention at the time." He kissed her forehead gently. "Rest now, magelet. Before we go charging off into the heat of battle."  
  
She was half asleep already, but she needed a confirmation. "You know I'd never leave you," she told him sleepily.  
  
He stroked her hair tenderly, returning the vow. "You know I'd never let you." 


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Yay! I'm over my writer's block. The key, apparently, was simply to get my fingers on the keyboard and write something; I was just lazy for a while and had to break out of that. Well, enjoy -- I hope this material stimulates the brain cells a bit -- and if you think *this* is a cliffie, wait til the ending of *next* chapter! *cackles evilly*  
  
It has come to my attention that this story is a Tortallian Heroes Awards nominee, thanks to Candice. I'm honored -- and very excited for the competition. *crosses fingers*  
  
Thanks: to Melody! God, I would *never* dare send out a chapter without passing it under your critical eye. Thank you so much for helping my story develop.  
  
Oh, and as always, I would greatly appreciate some thoughtful and specific reviews.  
  
Chapter 9  
  
She spent the next three days healing. As she'd told Numair, Selene's care did work wonders. By the end of the day she was on her feet, though still tired, and took Selene's advice -- and Numair's more insistent urgings -- to rest a good deal. By the next day she could do many of her usual activities -- using her magic, archery -- but with reserve. By the third day she felt fully rejuvenated, despite Numair's qualms, and even the more conservative healers couldn't disapprove of their setting out the next day. After all, she *was* at least as well as she'd been when she first came, though not perfect, given the toll of the Scanran war. Her minor headaches and nausea persisted, and Selene steadfastly eased them with her magic and tonics. Daine's back, too, healed cleanly, though she'd always have the scar, just inside her right shoulder blade. It didn't bother her much -- after all, it was just one more addition to her collection -- but the reminder of her injury seemed to burden Numair to no end.  
  
The day after the incident, they'd been talking together out on the balcony of their room -- they'd moved back as soon as Daine was on her feet again -- when her wound pulled, making her grimace.  
  
"Daine? What is it?" Numair leaned forward anxiously, putting a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"My -- back. Just a minute." She rose slowly and went inside to fetch the jar of salve Selene had given her, and a soft cloth. Forcing herself not to rub her back and disturb the wound, she returned to the balcony and gave salve and cloth to Numair. "Could you help me with this? Put it on with the cloth."  
  
"Of course. Turn around." Sitting on the couch, she turned her back to him. Gently he lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing her back, and carefully pulled away the bandage. For a long moment he didn't move; she could feel his tension, and frowned. "Numair?" She twisted to look at him over her shoulder.  
  
He was focused on her back as though enthralled, his dark brows pulled together; he seemed to be trying to say something. He touched the wound with infinite gentleness, long fingers running lightly over her back. His features contorted as though in pain.  
  
She turned away and looked at her knees, saying nothing.  
  
"Daine...." His touch withdrew. There was another long moment before he spoke again. "I'm sorry, magelet." It was barely more than a whisper; she found tears burning her eyes. "I'm so sorry." His voice broke.  
  
She drew and released a breath, staring straight ahead at the wall. "There wasn't anything you could have done," she said hoarsely.  
  
She could hear his choppy breathing, as though he fought to control himself. Somehow she *knew* what he was thinking: I wish I'd been out there with you.  
  
But that wasn't fair. First, because he *couldn't* have gone with her, not without endangering the mission as well as both their lives. Second, because he couldn't let go of his overbearing possessiveness. He couldn't bear to be away from her, couldn't bear to have her go off on her own, couldn't bear it when she was hurt. Couldn't he see that she'd grown up since they'd met? Couldn't he let her take her own chances for once? Sometimes she could hardly *breathe* for him hanging over her....  
  
She closed her eyes, lifting her face to the breath of a cool breeze passing. "Just put the salve on," she told him flatly. He obeyed without a word.  
  
They spoke no further of the subject, but Daine did a good deal of thinking about it herself. She could never decide whether his overprotection was truly his own flaw, and she could hold him responsible, or simply a sign of his love for her. *That* she couldn't blame. But it seemed whenever she adopted one of the two viewpoints, he would do something unexpected, and leave her wondering again. In so many ways she knew him as know one else could -- she *knew* the details of his life, and what he made of it; she *knew* how he felt about being one of the world's most powerful mages; she knew his loyalty to his friends, and his unrelenting vengeance to those who made him an enemy. His speech mannerisms, unconscious habits, unspoken communion -- all inscribed on her heart. But sometimes, even the man she loved seemed an enigma to her. Or, more likely, she was puzzled by a matter that concerned *her*. How could she stand outside and investigate the issue when she herself was on the receiving end? Life's mysteries, it seemed, would never cease to confound her. Sometimes she felt sixteen again, just discovering the world in so many ways.  
  
"Why does love have to be so complicated?" she'd asked Cloud more than once.  
  
It doesn't, the mare had informed her. You humans just make it that way.  
  
Now, she could only resolve to talk it over with Numair later. The issue had reared its head more than once, and would take more than a single talk to conquer. At the moment, they had other quite weighty matters on their hands, given Daine's discoveries in the mountains.  
  
They rode out of Ravenpeak three days after her return, well-rested and -supplied. The plan was to find the cave where Daine had felt that strange power earlier; beyond that, they knew little of what to expect. Not only had they been unable to identify the magical force, but it eluded all forms of investigation. Daine still couldn't sense it, any more than she could the hurroks (who had not made another appearance since the encounter in the plains) -- as before, when it had only come into her awareness once out in the plains. Numair, simply for want of wild magic, could know nothing first-hand of the situation. All he could do in the mission was help where he could, speculate with Daine, and -- most importantly, or so he thought -- protect her.  
  
What she *could* do was find her way back to where she'd encountered the magical source. Not that there was any guarantee it would still be there, but it was the next logical step of investigation, a valid move to find answers. Magical forces often left residue, or other signs of their properties. But again, wild magic was just that -- and as mages, they could only look at the evidence at hand and see what they could make of it. So far, they had seen so little that all they could say was that there was *something* around Ravenpeak that wielded a form of wild magic. Its power extended to hurroks; it had both controlled them and cloaked their magical presence, apparently to blind Daine from them.  
  
They crossed the sun-drenched plain in a comfortable silence. Since their not-quite quarrel on the balcony, no more had been said of the subject, and Numair had made no comment as to any issues of risks or injury. Now, they had reverted to the usual contentment at each other's company, though laced -- as it often was -- with the impending threat of their mission. They reached the mountain range by noon, and stopped to rest and eat in a cave that protruded slightly from the mountainside; a gently sloping ledge overhead formed the roof, then arching down on either side to form the walls. After a quick noon meal they simply sat in the shade of the cave on their blankets, resting. Each kept to his own thoughts for several minutes.  
  
"A copper for your thoughts," Numair said at length.  
  
Daine, who was sitting against the stone wall, drew her gaze from the roof of the cave to the mage seated across from her. Thinking about what he'd just said, her lips twisted into a rueful half-smile.  
  
He raised his eyebrows. "That pleasant?" he asked dryly. "Perhaps I should raise the stakes."  
  
"Don't bother."  
  
He stood and crossed over to her, taking a seat on her left. She drew a breath and released it heavily, gaze fixed stubbornly on her knees.  
  
"Magelet...." A large but gentle hand on her cheek; he turned her face to him. Still she averted her gaze. "Daine," he said softly. "Talk to me."  
  
Reluctantly she met his eyes; they were pleading and intent on hers. She bit her lip, suddenly blinking back tears. "If you can't tell," she said bitterly, voice cracking a bit, "I'm scared."  
  
His dark eyes didn't waver.  
  
"I don't *know* anything about what I'm up against here," she continued in a rush. "All I know is that it's strong, and it knows a lot about *me*, and it doesn't mean me well. Because the hurroks attacked me on orders -- I could sense that, just for a moment. And you know what else? I can't think of a single reason why they would *want* to attack Ravenpeak. Did you notice -- they didn't actually carry off much for themselves? They just did a lot of damage. For profit...?" She shook her head grimly. "It's not normal. Nothing's normal. But here I am, the Wildmage, and everyone expects *me* to understand everything. And fix this whole mess." She turned away, trembling slightly. The past few days had seemed to pass in a heartbeat. How had she gotten herself into all this? Here she was, heading off to confront -- something, whatever it was.  
  
"Daine. Listen to me." His voice was gentle but insistent.  
  
"What?" she snapped, hands curling into fists at her sides.  
  
He was undeterred by her hostility. "You're being irrational," he told her patiently. "Who says you're expected to solve everything so suddenly? The mystery we're to investigate is an intricate one indeed, and will require extensive and lengthy inquiry and contemplation. The process will be neither easy nor entirely safe" -- his face darkened briefly -- "and *no one* underestimates that, Daine. They can't expect you to arrive and resolve the situation instantly, regardless of your power and skill -- which remain both undisputed." His authoritative tone allowed for little argument. "Besides, Daine, don't minimize what you *have* accomplished. Look at all you've done for Ravenpeak. How many lives would have been lost if not for you?"  
  
She was silent, jaw clenched.  
  
"Magelet, I *know* how you feel. Remember the raiders' attack on Pirate's swoop, eleven years ago?"  
  
She would never forget -- and the fear and overwhelming expectations he had revealed to her, only her, still burned vividly in her mind. Fighting an assemblage of Carthaki mages, most Masters and up, all magic at Pirate's Swoop held down by the enemy's dampeners, everyone had looked to him for a rescue.  
  
She sighed and scrubbed her face with her hands. She was tempted simply to submit to the comfort of his words, as always -- but that was what irked her. This always seemed to happen -- she came to him with her woes, and he soothed them. It wasn't as if the responses he offered *did* reduce her struggles. Would she be forever running to the comfort of his arms, seeking asylum from her troubles? Would she always be a *child* to him? Frustration clouded her mind.  
  
That's not fair, protested a voice in her head. He's right, more often than not. You should at least listen to him.  
  
She clenched her teeth, vexed. She didn't *know* what she thought, or wanted. In the midst of everything she'd lost sight of her own standpoint. She felt frustrated, needled, irritable, and she couldn't even explain why.  
  
She pulled away from Numair and surged to her feet, restless with the whirlwind of thoughts surging through her head. Everything was piling up, smothering her. She had completely lost control of everything --  
  
A single thought shone through the storm. *Control*. She had none here, against an enemy who seemed to peer at her as though through a magnifying glass, studying her: it knew what she was and what she could do, it knew her magic, it had *searched* her mind. And she was helpless; it had disabled her against the very threat it presented -- the hurroks. It wasn't fair!  
  
She had to laugh bitterly at the childish protest in her head. No, that wasn't it. It was just as she'd thought first: control. Hers was crippled just now -- her power, her knowledge -- and she didn't like it. That was what bothered her.  
  
"Selene was right," she said suddenly, whirling back to face Numair, who had been critically watching her pacings. "About power. We do get rather addicted to it, don't we? After all, my magic makes up the greater part of what I call myself -- it *is* me. Right now it's being turned on its ears, and that's driving me mad." Her lip curled, almost savagely. "And I can't blame anyone but myself." She finished in a hoarse whisper.  
  
Numair said nothing, watching her from his seat against the stone wall.  
  
She took a deep breath, running her hands over her face. So it had taken her eight years of professional magic to realize this, eight years for it to really hit her. This, then, was part of the price for the position she'd taken. Wild magic -- it was so unwieldy, so uncontrollable. She remembered well what Numair had taught her in her earliest lessons: "Wild magic has been known to act without the cooperation of the bearer." That she couldn't deny. Was it her *choice* to infect the People's innocence, to unveil the humans' world to them? Was it her choice for the People to follow her anywhere, even to their deaths? And now.... She'd all but staked her life on her magic. Now, things were not going neatly as she would have liked; they were bending far out of their expected paths. And the divergence's effect on her was disturbing. What would it be like for her if her magic was corrupted? Killed? Gone?  
  
He released a slow breath, eyes closed, then opened them and faced her squarely. He looked tired, beaten. "Daine...." he began simply.  
  
She shook her head, features tense as though with pain. "Listen, we'd best get going," she said tersely. That, at least, would give them something useful to do. She crouched and began to stuff their supplies back in the packs --  
  
Then stopped abruptly. Her head snapped up and she stared out the cave entrance, scanning the plains without, but she saw nothing -- even with raptor eyes -- but waving yellow grass and ripples of heat rising from the sun-beaten earth.  
  
There had been the tiniest disturbance in her magic, like a harp string lightly plucked or a small pebble dropped into a pond.  
  
"Daine? What is it?" (It occurred to her that Numair was saying this a great deal in their time at Ravenpeak. This was how it was: she was the one in touch with the magic; he could only ask what she saw or sensed.)  
  
She frowned, tingles racing through her body. Something was not right. "I don't know," she answered truthfully, still staring out the cave entrance. She had the foreboding -- again -- that there was a menace present; not merely in these mountains or the lands around Ravenpeak, but *here*, by this very cave, watching them. "Stay here," she ordered absently. Before he could protest, she grabbed her bow, slung her quiver over her shoulder, and headed towards the mouth of the cave.  
  
Just inside the stone ledge, she drew an arrow from her quiver and set it to the string. Glancing back at Numair, she saw that he had obeyed, and was watching her with a mixture of bewilderment and fear. Turning back to the plains below the arch of a sweet azure sky, she stepped out into the sunlight. 


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: WHEW I'm done. *sprawled lifelessly in chair* God that was a hard one to write. But I made it!! I meant to get it done tonight, and I did. Ok, so I was too lazy beta the thing, but oh well! I'm just so glad I got this chunk out of the way. I just kept telling myself I had to work towards the end -- and it is a lovely cliffhanger, isn't it? *grin* Well, it's not that bad -- most things have been explained already, right?  
  
And speaking of betaing, I'd like to do a little plug for my dear beta and friend Melody. Brilliant writer, that girl -- she writes HP fic, so check it out! I believe her new pen name is Dragon's Daughter... (will have to check that)  
  
PLEASE give me some feedback. The whole reason I post this stuff online is so I can get more! Especially for this chapter, because it's an important one -- and I'm thinking of seriously reworking it, as it's less polished than usual; I just sort of squeezed it all out (NOT without struggle) and plopped it down, and that's what you're reading. So: what do you make of it?  
  
Chapter 10  
  
There was a faint shimmering quality to the plains around her. It was in the air, something that sent a tremor racing up her spine, little sparks coursing through her veins. Magic, she knew. But nothing she could put a name to.  
  
For long moments she stood in the waist-high grass, bow loaded and arched heavily in her grip, scanning the seemingly infinite plains, searching for an answer, straining every sense. Her magic picked up nothing definite. Hawk eyes took in only long, waving grasses stretching in every direction before her, and the movements of small animals hiding in them. Bat ears flicked about, gathering spidery clusters of sound. Breeze-stirred grasses brushing against each other, rodents scuttling around out of sight, the long sigh of the wind disturbed by the wing-beats of birds overhead --  
  
Something scraping against rock, behind and above her.  
  
She whirled, bow raised, to find a snarling hurrok falling on her. She loosed automatically, blood pounding in her ears, and the arrow slammed into the monster's throat. She tried to jump out of the way as it collapsed, thrashing, but a claw raked her left arm. Another hurrok was upon her, fangs bared and claws flexed; it slammed against a wall of sparkling black fire and fell away, stunned.  
  
Numair was beside her, his magic surrounding them in a fiery globe as he pulled her back towards the cave. The remaining hurroks had dropped down from the ledge where they had been waiting, and now swooped around outside the cave, filling the heavy, hot air with screams of rage. Panic flared as Daine realized the horses were still outside with them. Cloud, Spots, *move out*! she ordered, putting her will behind it. It's us they want! Dimly she felt the horses obey.  
  
"Where did they *come* from?" Numair demanded, his shield now stretched over the cave entrance in a glittering sheet. "They just swooped down --"  
  
"They could only have come from one place," she pointed out tightly. "One *thing*. They were on top --" she jerked her head towards the arched stone ceiling -- "above us, and I couldn't feel them until they'd gotten us boxed in here." She watched the immortals circling outside, those flaming eyes of theirs fixed on the mages. She gripped her bow tightly. This was going to be a hard fight.  
  
"A shield strong enough to keep them away isn't permeable," he told her after a moment. "We can either be safe behind it, or drop it completely and fight them."  
  
"They're not going anywhere until either we're dead or they are. You'll have to drop it."  
  
He gave her a long look, then turned back to the mouth of the cave. "Very well. Can you do anything magically?"  
  
She clenched her jaw. "No. I'll shoot."  
  
The mouth of the cave was wide enough for them both to stand in it, but it was tight. So close together in a fight, they would be a danger to each other as well as the foe. For one of them alone it would have been best to stay just inside the cave and be covered from all directions but one; as it was, they would have to stand outside to gain more scope. Now they stepped out of the cave, the fiery shield pushing out in a bubble around them. The hurroks eyed them hungrily.  
  
"On the count of three," Numair said quietly. They moved apart to give each other space, she on the right, he on the left. Daine loaded her bow again. "One -- two -- three."  
  
The shield vanished. For a moment, the rush of the hot air on her face and the sight of hurroks circling in every direction but behind her made Daine's head spin; but the hurroks wasted no time and swooped down, huge raptor's claws extended. Two of them dropped towards Daine, neck and neck. Adrenaline flashed through her; she would have to shoot *before* they got too close or she wouldn't take them both. Her first shot missed the creature's throat and went through the wing, which was nearly as good, disabling it. It fell from the air, screeching in pain. Her next arrow slashed the second hurrok's neck -- not lethal, but it pulled away hastily. On her left, at the edge of her vision, she saw a hurrok struggling against a shimmering black cord that twined around its neck like a living snake.  
  
There were roughly twenty hurroks remaining. They kept close and attacked in clusters, making hard targets. Daine fired again and again, the back of her shirt drenched with sweat in the relentless heat of the sun and the intensity of battle. Soon the wound on her left arm began to pull; she ignored it, shooting desperately to keep her attackers at bay. Once she missed an incoming hurrok completely, having just shot its companion, and it swooped down, screaming its victory. She would have been dead if Numair hadn't flamed it just then, so strongly she felt the heat on her face.  
  
Again, it made her queasy to be fighting immortals she couldn't feel. Their fiery eyes, cruel talons and chilling scream had never been divorced from the harshness of their bronze magic. Now, she felt completely cut off, on the other side of a thick curtain from them -- and she had not the slightest idea what entity had touched their magic, commanding them. Her *anonymous* foe. Tears of fury and frustration welled in her eyes at the thought of her helplessness -- her magic dented, debilitated. That *thing* was probably laughing at her right now: /The poor girl laid on her back -- bet she didn't count on something happening to her precious *powers* -- and now she just doesn't know what to do, gods help us --/  
  
She snarled in fury at the thought and snapped an arrow into an attacking hurrok's eye, savoring its scream of pain and rage. Her next arrow plunged into a hurrok's chest; it fell struggling to the ground. Half a heartbeat later, she sent a third arrow into the next hurrok's eye again, barely five yards away. The monster tumbled to the ground, spending its death throes at the Wildmage's feet. She ignored it, raising her bow to meet another pair of hurroks who were clearly furious from the wounds she'd dealt them earlier in the battle. Adrenaline flushed her system; she barely felt the arrows under her fingers; they seemed to fly to her targets of their own accord -- the hurroks stumbled in the air, clawing desperately at the bolts buried in their necks. Higher overhead, a sparkling black cloud found a hurrok and spread over its body like a second hide; the hurrok screamed and thrashed as the magic ate away at it like acid, leaving only a skeleton by the time it hit the ground.  
  
The tide of battle had turned. More than half of the hurroks lay on the ground, their remains sprawled in grotesque poses reminiscent of their final agony. Now the others gradually pulled back, rising higher into the air, glaring poisonously at the mages below. After a few moment's hesitation, they turned and flapped away, leaving behind the carnage of their herd-mates scattered among the tall, dry grass.  
  
Daine lowered her bow, the hatred that had fueled her in the battle still pounding in her veins. The sun pressed on her cruelly; she pushed her sweaty hair back and strode over to the body of the hurrok she'd killed. A swarm of flies was already crawling around the dappled fur; its yellow eyes were dull and staring. Her jaw clenched; in a rage, she gave the dead hurrok a furious kick.  
  
"Gods-cursed, filthy monster," she hissed through clenched teeth. "*Rot*."  
  
"Daine." Numair had come over to her from his position on her left. His shirt was sweat-soaked, his hair tousled. He looked exhausted, as though they'd been fighting all day instead of half an hour. He eyed her wearily. "That's not helping anyone."  
  
She glared up at him, breathing hard. In that moment, she hated him for being right. For being reasonable. She was sick of reason by now. She turned away, staring out over the graveyard of dead hurroks before them in the haze of heat.  
  
Cloud, Spots, come back, she called tersely. They're gone now.  
  
A gentle touch on her left arm made her wince. Her wound was still open, the blood staining her sleeve. "You're hurt," Numair said softly.  
  
Her anger flared up anew; she jerked away from him. Would he *never* stop fussing over her? "I'm *fine*," she snarled. "Can you just leave me alone?"  
  
Once again he looked beaten, unable to respond. His silence only needled her further; she turned on her heel and stalked back to the cave. Inside, the shade fell over her like a light, soft veil. She sat against the cool stone wall and leaned gratefully against it for a moment, her heartbeat slowing, before reaching into her pack. Sourly she jerked at a length of bandage, smearing ointment on it and wrapping it tightly around her left forearm.  
  
Leaving both sleeves rolled up to the elbow against the heat, she leaned back against the cave wall and relaxed in the cool, soothing breath of the cavern. The horses had returned, and remained outside despite the smell of death and the carcasses of the hurroks. Exhaustion finally pushed through Daine's anger, accompanied by bitterness. Here she was again, having fought off another attack, helpless and none the wiser as to what it was she fought. And Numair was right: it wouldn't help to go about lashing out at everything in her way. She half-laughed at herself. It looked like there was nothing she *could* do to help herself, or anyone.  
  
Footsteps told her without looking that Numair had returned. He took a seat -- across the cave from her -- and pulled a flask of water from his pack. He didn't look angry, hurt or even bitter, just tired. She couldn't blame him. Too much had happened, the rush of emotions, the heat of battle, and now she was too worn out even to talk about it. They sat in heavy silence for a while.  
  
Even so, an idea teased at the back of her mind. Something had been bothering her for days, something she couldn't name. It wasn't even about her enemy, or about the hurroks she'd had to fight. Most of them were dead by now anyway, a fair number of them lying about the plains outside the cave. She could hear the calls of vultures circling above them this very moment.  
  
She gasped and sat bolt upright, head spinning. But it was impossible -- it couldn't be --  
  
"What's wrong?" Numair asked anxiously.  
  
She took a moment to reply, her gaze wandering about the cave floor in thought. The vultures outside... the birds here... all the People.... She scanned her magical senses. Yes, even now, the People were dim in her vision, somewhat closed off to her. She had not needed to speak to them much in the past few days, but she now felt quite clearly that they had little wish to talk to *her*. The alienation made her skin crawl. How could she not have noticed it?  
  
"I think I know what's going on," she said slowly as her idea came together. Her eyes, now focused and grim, returned to Numair. "The People around here have been... less than helpful, you could say. I first noticed it when I went out after the hurroks' attack -- the raptor scouts weren't very quick about telling me where the hurroks were, or very specific. I just didn't think too much about it at the time, because I had other things to worry about. But you know what else? They haven't come to help me in a single fight here, and they *always* do, even without my asking." An image of the hurrok dropping down on her on the East tower flashed across her mind, and she shuddered. "And recently, they haven't been, well, very *nice*. It's like we're just not very close." Her lips tightened. "So whatever's behind the hurroks -- it's probably the same thing -- it's affecting the People here too." She looked up at him. "Does this sound familiar?"  
  
He eyed her critically.  
  
It was surprisingly hard to make herself say it straight out. Daine found her head was pounding yet again, and raised a hand to her temples. "I think," she said quietly, "that the thing we're fighting isn't a god or elemental or immortal. It's a wildmage, just like me." She drew a breath. "That's how it could talk to the hurroks and order them around, telling them how to attack, and to attack me in particular. That's why I felt its magic with the hurroks', because it was *in* theirs. And it -- he -- or she -- told the People not to give me too much help."  
  
Silence fell once again as this soaked in. Another wildmage comparable to her was news indeed. First, because they had never seen another with half as much magic as Daine, given her parentage. Second, because if such a wildmage was working against her, she had her work cut out for her. It was alarming: the singular constant she'd *always* known was the People's loyalty and friendship. Now it seemed she had a competitor coming between her and her friends, and their support was by no means ensured. Suddenly she felt eerily alone and helpless, like a warrior disarmed. A voice in her head sniggered. /Too bad, *Wildmage*. Maybe you shouldn't have always taken your magic for granted./  
  
"It's possible," Numair said finally. He was still sprawled wearily against the cave wall, but his brow was furrowed in thought. "But that doesn't explain why his or her magic would feel unfamiliar to you, or why you are able to sense it only at close range."  
  
"I don't know why it feels strange," she replied, fiddling with a curl. The idea disturbed her further. "But then, it's wild magic, isn't it? There are a lot of things we don't know about it."  
  
"True." He sighed, looking at her grimly. "*This* is going to be... a fight." His dark eyes were troubled.  
  
She nodded, grimacing slightly at the thought of confronting any enemy in her current state. "I just wish I could *know* something about him, instead of guessing," she said bitterly. "But I doubt the People will tell me much." Her fists clenched. She didn't reach out to them, but could still feel vaguely that their backs were turned, as she had never felt before in her life.  
  
It was as if the thought had conjured him: a pale grey raptor swooped into the cave, coming to rest on the ground between them. Daine found she had rarely been so glad to see one of the People in her life. "Windracer!" She moved away from the wall, settling closer to the falcon. So *one* of her friends here, at least, was willing to talk to her. She looked up at Numair. "Remember him? The fellow I helped on the road." The mage nodded; she turned back to Windracer. "I am very glad to see *you*."  
  
Likewise, the bird said shortly. And I can't blame you, given how the People have been treating you lately.  
  
"What?" she asked. Windracer seemed to know a good deal about the situation. "Yes, why? I mean, I think I have an idea --"  
  
Just let me explain. We don't have much time. The falcon was rocking from foot to foot, as though trying to say something difficult. There is, he continued at length, a two-legger here much like you. He is both human and People, but greater than us.  
  
Even in the heat, Daine felt icy. She translated for Numair. "Yes, that's what I thought," she told Windracer. "It was hard to believe, though, because we're so rare."  
  
Listen, he wants you dead. He knows you're equally powerful, and a threat to him. He first called the hurroks here because he knew you would come to fight them. When you came, he covered up their magic so you couldn't sense them. He set them on you several times, but I think now he's just planning to take you on himself.  
  
There was something different to the quality of Windracer's mind- speech. He sounded more intelligent; his thoughts came through with more depth and complexity than when she had first spoken to him. Then, he had sounded like a normal falcon; now, he spoke like one of her close friends, their intelligence enhanced by her magic. Daine repeated his words aloud again. "And he told the People not to tell me he was here? And not to help me?"  
  
After a while, yes. Not so much in the beginning, he was afraid you'd suspect. He wasn't happy about it then, even so. A definite note of disgust entered the bird's voice.  
  
"How not?"  
  
Windracer took a moment to repond. He wasn't very reasonable, he said finally. If he made us not talk to you at all, you'd probably know what was going on; but he hated it when we helped you. You see, he's... not like you. He doesn't try to help us -- like you helped me on the road -- unless it will help *him* somehow. He makes us do things, instead of asking us like you asked the raptors' help a few days ago. He makes us do... bad things, sometimes. Often we get hurt doing them, but he doesn't care. The falcon's claws flexed, scraping on the stone floor.  
  
And he says if we don't, we'll be punished. He does it sometimes anyway, even if we do everything he says, just to keep us down. But I don't care. *I* am not going to be a party to what he does with his power. Windracer looked up at her. You saved my life, and the least I can do is try to help you. He paused, then added, I'm very sorry you were hurt.  
  
Daine closed her eyes for a moment, taking this all in. The frustration and anger with herself she had felt earlier were channeled and crystallized into a fury at how this man -- the wildmage -- treated the People. Using his magic to manipulate them, not caring if they were hurt, not bothering to heal them, though he obviously could.... Her blood boiled. She opened her eyes and faced the falcon in front of her.  
  
"Thank you." The phrase sounded so humble and inadequate given what she wanted to express. "You are one of the bravest, noblest People I have met," she told Windracer, and knelt in front of him. "Wing-brother, I swear that if I am able to prevent it, this man will not harm you -- wildmage or no."  
  
Windracer watched her, trust in his sharp golden eyes. It will be a hard battle. He's very powerful. He is the son of a god.  
  
"And I am the daughter of one," Daine replied. There was no vainglory in the statement; her smoky blue eyes were hard. "And I plan to put an end to the man's actions, or die in the attempt."  
  
"Daine." That was Numair, leaning toward her anxiously. She had almost forgotten he sat next to her, unable to follow the conversation. "What does he say?"  
  
She explained what Windracer had said, a bit impatiently. She found it difficult to keep her voice even, and at length noticed a sharp pain in her palms from her nails digging into them.  
  
She felt something akin to the hunger of a wolf pursuing its prey rise in her. This man -- though she was hesitant to call him that -- was a wildmage as strong as she, and was *using* the People like slaves, for his own foul endeavors. Well, before he tried to hurt them again he would have to kill her first.  
  
Numair watched her wordlessly as she spoke, his face tense. "Well," he said simply when she'd finished. "This is...." He seemed to struggle for words. "This is quite an earful."  
  
"I know it is." She rose briskly, gripping her pack and bow. "Let's go do something about it, shall we?"  
  
Numair looked at her gravely for a long moment, then followed suit.  
  
"Windracer -- when I was out here three days ago, I felt him, in a cave --"  
  
Yes. He often stays in a cave in these mountains, northeast of here. I believe he's there now.  
  
Daine nodded. "That's what I thought. That's where we were going, anyway." She patted her shoulder; the falcon fluttered up to perch there. "Let's go." She was anxious -- more than anxious -- to get going, to find that cave, this man. To sink her teeth into this throat..  
  
As they stepped out of the cave she froze as an unpleasant and familiar bronze presence stained her magical senses. A tremor crawled up her spine as she realized what this could mean.  
  
"I can feel the hurroks," she informed her companions. She looked sharply at Windracer.  
  
He will know by now, the falcon replied, looking out over the plains. He knows what I've told you, and that you are on your way. He has no need to mask the hurroks.  
  
She translated for Numair and added, "Will he send another attack?"  
  
I doubt it. I think he's waiting for you in the cave.  
  
"Well then," she said coldly. "Wouldn't want to keep him waiting, now would we?" She fastened her packs to Cloud's saddle and mounted up, taking a moment to pull her tousled curls back to order under a leather tie.  
  
No one spoke as they set off along the line of mountains under the cruel heat. She couldn't help but wonder if Numair was longing to give his usual words about her risking herself; either way, she was glad he said nothing. Part of her ached at seeing him so quiet, knowing how helpless he felt. She knew fully that something had come between them since she'd balked at his protectiveness, and it made her want to cry out that she loved him with all her heart, no matter what. but she couldn't, not now. Besides, it was not the time to think about risk. No one in the mortal or divine realms could keep her from going to that cave now.  
  
She remembered Selene's words. /Power can too easily be used for evil..../ She wondered if perhaps her enemy had been a rather decent man, before his magical career. Well, it was no one's choice for him to be born a wildmage, she thought grimly. But power on such a scale could do that, couldn't it? Twist a person's nature beyond recognition. Turn a human being into a monster.  
  
The hurroks' magic flared up in her mind; they were close. Her head snapped up and she scanned the skies, pulling Cloud up short. "They're coming this way," she said tightly. "From the east." She gazed in that direction.  
  
Numair also turned to the east, frowning, and raised a hand. Black fire bloomed around it, then spread out to form a large, shimmering globe around them, as he'd shielded them when the hurroks had attacked earlier. Now the flock came into view, flying hard over the plains. As they neared, Daine gasped to see how many there were - at least forty. She'd never *seen* so many hurroks together.  
  
"He must have called in reinforcements," Numair murmured. He looked back at her. "It's all right - the shield will hold. But we shouldn't fight them -"  
  
"They're not after us," she said quietly, reaching up to brush their mind with her magic. Her skin tingled.  
  
No more than fifty yards away, the herd halted, fanning their leathery wings as they watched the mages below. Then they banked as one and headed south, the mass of the flock following their leader in a wave. Screeching calls to one another made Daine shiver as Numair dropped his shield.  
  
"They're heading back to Ravenpeak," she whispered, and reached her magic after the vanishing flock. "They - oh no -" The hurroks' intent was clear. She felt dizzy. Ravenpeak didn't stand a chance against these, not as it was. She whirled on Numair. "You *have* to go back, and fight!"  
  
"Daine, I can't," he said forcefully. His eyes narrowed, and she saw a return of his old self. "*We* are going to confront the wildmage behind this --"  
  
"I can handle him myself," she told him hotly.  
  
"You can't know that!" His temper was rising as well. "You *know* you aren't in perfect condition! *He's* been acting through those hurroks of his, and is in all likelihood in excellent shape! And from what we've heard, he's not the most noble opponent -- he doesn't play by anyone's rules." His tone grew somewhat softer, but remained urgent. "Daine, I would be the last person to question your mastery, strength or determination -- but admit it, you've never been up against a wildmage of your own caliber. Act wisely. You won't have your usual resources in this fight."  
  
"I -- know -- that." She spoke through gritted teeth. "And believe me, I don't like it." Her chin trembled slightly. "But I *have* to put a stop to this. To him. My friends -- the People --" She paused, struggling to control her emotions, then looked at him with something like pleading in her eyes. She squared her shoulders. "This is a risk I have to take."  
  
He said nothing, eyes tormented.  
  
"Numair," she continued softly, "Ravenpeak's off guard, and they don't know these are coming. Even if they did they might not make it. They'll fall if you don't go back to help." There was no challenge to her words.  
  
It was another long moment before he replied.  
  
"I won't stop you," he whispered. His head bowed slightly.  
  
She blinked back tears and drew close to him. They held each other tightly, not wanting to face a parting. She drew a ragged breath. "Numair -- the things I said earlier -- the things we were talking about --"  
  
"Shh," he murmured, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "It's all right."  
  
She felt a rush of love flooding her, and caught his hand in hers. "We'll... talk later," she told him firmly. "When all this is over. I promise."  
  
He nodded, eyes bright. "Don't get killed, Daine," he said intensely. "I love you."  
  
"I know." Her voice cracked. "And I love you." Silently she vowed to return to him, ignoring the logical odds. He sank one hand into her curls and kissed her tenderly; she wrapped her arms around him, trying to pour all she felt into the kiss. They gasped for air, lips roving.  
  
Finally, she pulled away, wishing fervently that she could keep him by her side. "Goddess bless," she whispered, squeezing his hand one last time. "Now go."  
  
"Goddess bless, magelet." His fingers trailed out of hers reluctantly as he turned Spots south, casting a final look at her over his shoulder. She too forced herself to urge Cloud along the mountain range, toward her own battle.  
  
She couldn't afford to worry about Numair, not now. As she progressed toward her destination, her magical senses filled alarmingly. There was that cold, steely magic again -- the wildmage -- and many People with him. These, too, were unresponsive to her. She could feel their magic tainted by *his*, saturated by it: they were his. She realized that for the first time in her life, she would probably be forced to defend herself against People.  
  
Numair was right, she thought wildly, heart fluttering. I won't have the kind of help I usually do.  
  
Finally she, Cloud, and Windracer had reached the blocked-off cave entrance she'd found earlier, the cave mouth closed off by a large boulder. Daine dismounted, brushing through the yellow, waist-high grass. Hesitantly she laid a hand against the boulder; it was hot to the touch after baking all day in the sun. Light-headed, she looked up at the expanse of blue sky above, wondering if she'd ever see it again. It seemed to bear down on the land, ready to swallow it at any moment.  
  
Daine turned to her oldest friend, tangling her hand in Cloud's mane. *Stay here*, she ordered firmly. You won't be much of a help in this fight anyway. (Dimly she registered that the man in the cave had assembled powerful hounds, wolves and mountain wildcats under his power.) If something happens to me, you know where to go. You can find your way back...?  
  
Of course, the mare replied. But I won't be going back without you. You told the stork-man.  
  
Daine smiled, hugging the pony, then rose and turned to the falcon on her shoulder. Are you sure you want to come?  
  
I'm sure, Windracer said solidly. I said I'd help you, and I'll do everything I can. Besides -- he nodded towards the cave, an oddly human gesture -- there are some of my people in there. Perhaps I can turn them.  
  
She stroked the bird's feathers, tears pricking her eyes. Thank you, she said simply. Turning to the boulder in the cave mouth, she seized it and pulled with all her might, managing to roll it away after a minute's effort. Sweating, she cast a last look at the vast plains, then pulled her bow and quiver from her saddle and stepped into the cave.  
  
In a startling contrast to the climate outside, the cavern was dank and clammy as well as cool. Blinking to adjust her eyes to the gloom, she changed them to those of an owl and saw a stone corridor sloping downward from where she stood. Slinging her quiver over her shoulder, she selected a bolt and put it to the string. Ignoring the dryness of her mouth, she set off down the tunnel.  
  
Moving away from the cave entrance, virtually all light vanished. Even with owl eyes, she placed each step carefully, moving along by touch as well as vision. Bat ears also gave her an idea of her surroundings. As she descended into the depths of the cave, the magic she sensed grew stronger. The malevolence was more pronounced now, particularly from the wildmage himself, but he had clearly infected the People's magic as well. It chilled her to feel such animosity radiating from those she'd always thought her friends.  
  
Just as she thought this, the magics vanished.  
  
She froze in the darkness, gripping her bow tightly. Was that what I think it is? she asked Windracer.  
  
He's hiding himself, the falcon replied tersely, and the People, as he did with the hurroks -- so you can't sense them.  
  
She shook her head. Well, I know they're close. If you don't mind, I'm going to do the same -- I'll just shut off my magic, so unfortunately we won't be able to talk.  
  
That's fine.  
  
She did, and felt the strange absence of any People. Communication was impossible, as she'd closed her mind, but over the years she had learned to retain some abilities while disabling others. Now, she was glad she could keep her owl eyes and bat ears; she would have stumbled without them.  
  
Ahead, she could dimly hear air moving in a larger space: the corridor opened into a large cavern. She frowned, and moved forward more cautiously. To her surprise, light spilled into the tunnel from the space ahead, falling across the stone walls and floor. As she drew nearer, she felt air moving across her face: the cavern breathed a draft into the tunnel leading up to it.  
  
She forced herself to keep moving, and finally was low enough to see into the stone chamber itself. Standing just outside the entrance, she relinquished her owl eyes and saw that the cavern was lit by torches set into iron grips on the stone walls. This was an inhabited place. Now she was dying to let down her guards and see if she could feel her enemy near, but she dared not risk letting him sense her. Regardless, she intended to be as ready as possible. Grimly she pulled the bowstring back to her ear, keeping the bow sight in front of her. She prayed it would not come to hurting People, for all that they would probably be set against her.  
  
Her stomach turned over as she stepped into the cavern, the soft *clup* of her footsteps echoing. The cavern was empty and large, perhaps sixty yards across. Flickering torchlight illuminated rough gray-brown stone. She saw and heard nothing else, venturing several yards out into the open.  
  
"Ill met, young wildmage," snarled a baritone voice behind her. 


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: UGH. I am battling this fic. It is not cooperating. Thus, I have only this much after four days. I'm working on it. All right, here's your villain, here's your explanation. Kitty, thanks for the help -- I did my best. :P  
  
Tigers118 - thanks! I always love getting thoughtful reviews. Yeah, Kitten doesn't come up much... but then, we don't see her with Daine in PotS either, really. I might address that in a future edition.  
  
Note, people: in, um, Tyran *cough-Italian-cough*, _ci_ is pronounced "chee," and _gn_, "ny."  
  
Help me out here: make it worthwhile and REVIEW. I consider it sort of pretentious to demand a certain number of reviews before updating (*snort* not that people would comply if I did), but I would REALLY appreciate a handful of decent reviews.  
  
Thanks: to Melody. I just don't deserve her. And yes, her pen name is Dragon's Daughter. Check it out. (Maybe I could try demanding reviews for HER before I update.... *musing*)  
  
Chapter 11  
  
Daine whirled, bow raised, to see a man stepping out of the shadows with a similar weapon deeply arched and aimed at her heart. Now she saw that the tunnel he had been waiting in also led out of the cavern, running parallel -- for a short distance -- to the one she had taken. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, with the dark coloring and deep-set features of Tyra, and wore dark breeches and a cream-colored shirt. His handsome face was twisted in a sneer as he looked her over; Windracer glared at the man, claws digging into Daine's shoulder.  
  
"So," he said coolly, "we meet at last." There was a manic gleam in his dark eyes as they bored into hers, a mixture of enmity and delight. The animals Daine had felt earlier -- lean, shaggy elkhounds, wolves, mountain wildcats -- now streamed out of the corridor behind him and settled around his feet, watching Daine impassively. She glanced at them and opened her magic, keeping her bow trained on the other wildmage, and forced herself to betray no emotion. The People's magic was still cloaked at the moment; she couldn't reach them. But it was clear that her foe had assembled them for one reason: battle. A formidable collection of muscle and agility, claws and teeth was present and, at the moment, at his beck and call. His self- assured posture was one of a man in a position of power over his opponent.  
  
"The renowned Veralidaine Sarrasri," the man continued in his smooth, resonant tones, a trace of an accent shadowing his words, "once of Galla, daughter of Weiryn, Wildmage of Tortall." He smiled cruelly and let the wards on his magic fall; it and that of his People companions filled her senses, steely, cold, menacing. Sweat broke out on Daine's back and palms, and she gripped her bow tighter. For now, they were at a standoff, but that would change if he called in the hunters in his servitude. The man frowned as his gaze shifted to her shoulder, and his look turned to one of disgust. "And I see you've taken in my most *loyal* friend Windracer." His steely magic reached out towards Windracer like a grasping hand. In a reflex, Daine flushed the falcon with her own power, driving out the enemy; he retreated.  
  
"He's not your friend," Daine told him, voice hard. "None of them are." Despite her obvious disadvantage in the situation, her hatred toward this man she'd just met -- in person -- surfaced, filling her with a burning fury. It took all the willpower she could muster not to loose her arrow on him, or to take on the form of a wolf and leap for his throat.  
  
His eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, flicked from falcon to Wildmage and back again. The sadistic smiled returned. "Very nice, girl," he told her slowly. "They told me you were good, of course, but I'd never seen it myself. The times we made contact, before, you had little idea what it was you were dealing with." He took a step toward her.  
  
"Stay where you are," she commanded, straining the bowstring back still farther. Her jaw clenched; she boiled with rage.  
  
He stopped, and one dark eyebrow arched. "You, my dear, are in no position to give orders."  
  
"Aren't I?" Her fingers trembled with anger. "I've got a bow on you."  
  
His manic smiled faltered, then broadened. He let out a hearty laugh that made a chill race up her spine, not taking his eyes from her.  
  
"Wherever are my manners?" he remarked pleasantly, making no move to take his bow sight from her. "Allow me to introduce myself. Lucio Savagni, once of Tyra." He inclined his head to one side. "Forgive my failure to bow; at the moment it seems the situation does not allow it." He nodded at her finely made ebony longbow, a gift from her father.  
  
"Well." She met his gaze coolly. "You seem to know a good deal about *me*. So -- how is it that you came here, and that we ended up with each other at bowpoint?"  
  
His glittering eyes laughed. "*That* will take some telling. Perhaps I should start at the beginning." He shifted his stance, as though to make himself more comfortable without lowering his bow. "I was born in Agnatti, in southern Tyra -- not far from the coast. My family are prominent silk merchants, highly respected; so it would have been a flaming scandal had anyone known that my *real* father is not my mother's husband."  
  
He raised a sneering eyebrow. "I suppose you think quite *highly* of yourself, Sarrasri, being the daughter of a god." He smirked, visibly self- satisfied. "I suppose you think you're the only demigod between us...."  
  
"No, actually, I've heard," Daine said coldly. "Windracer told me." She held her ground, defiantly unimpressed.  
  
"Of course." He glanced at the falcon on Daine's shoulder, face tightening briefly, then returned his attention to Daine. His chin lifted slightly. "My father is the Hunter Cianto, a Tyran god of the hunt. Affiliated particularly with the eagle, he is recognized -- and emulated among his followers -- for his bloodthirsty and relentless pursuit of the quarry."  
  
Daine stared. No wonder he sired this monster, she thought. This one's no friend to the People.  
  
"To return to my story. When I was a young boy, another wildmage of Agnatti recognized my magic. His name was Viciendo. He was my teacher." Savagni's face twisted with loathing as though at a memory. "Oh, he was *quite* highly regarded in Agnatti. Throughout the realm, even. He was a decent wildmage -- quite well educated -- and someone to deal with animals was greatly appreciated by many. But as I grew, as did my powers, it became clear that of the two of us, I was the stronger -- much as he desired to ignore the fact -- and that I was meant to be the greater.  
  
"This too the old man denied. I had to act, in order to right matters. When I was twenty-two, I disposed of him. It helped to have the beasts at my command." He sneered.  
  
Beasts? *That* was what he called the People?  
  
"I had planned meticulously. All would have believed Viciendo died by accident had it not been for some street-rat who insisted on intruding upon the business of his betters. Somehow he escaped in condition to relay what he'd seen to others. My name went up on conscription, and I was forced to flee home. For a time, I was safe; I was able to live in the wild, at least, without threat. But this was no life for me, estranged from all human civilization. In my desperation, I became careless. Wandering into a country town, I was spotted by the local law enforcement, and seized. I was convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of my teacher.  
  
"Fully aware of my powers, the penitentiary put me under careful guard," Savagni continued disdainfully. "I was eight years in that miserable hole before I was able to overcome my guard and -- again with the help of animals -- secure my escape." He smiled coldly. "They *do* come in handy, don't they?"  
  
She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled. She *had* to keep a cool head; she knew that this was likely only the beginning of attempts at provoking her -- they were at a standoff, she reminded herself, and he might set the People on her.... Discreetly, she loosened her bow slightly, so as to reduce the temptation to fire. For the moment, she wanted to hear Savagni's story -- to try and understand him, fathom his twisted mind.  
  
The other wildmage was still speaking. "Unfortunately, the law redoubled their efforts after my escape. They kept me on the run for a year or two, traveling throughout the country. It was not pleasant. Finally, I was able to persuade a young farmer to aid me across the border, out of Tyran knowledge and jurisdiction. After fleeing the country, I -- at length -- found a suitable refuge. Can you guess, my dear, what that was?"  
  
"Ravenpeak," she said flatly.  
  
He nodded. "Precisely. You can understand how convenient it was -- I came as a poor Tyran immigrant, fleeing poverty and hardship in my home country -- disguising my education, my background...." He smiled slowly. "My skills. I needed to lay low for a while, given my recent exploits. Happily, there are few, as you know, who are cognizant of wild magic. My lord kindly employed me in the stables, and I rose to become the highest authority and most regarded expert thereof."  
  
Maybe it was listening to his oily words, or staring into his crazed, glittering dark eyes for so long: her head began to pound again, and the dimly lit cavern swayed before her eyes. No, not now, she thought, willing her vertigo to settle. She *couldn't* weaken now, in front of her enemy....  
  
"But you can understand, Sarrasri, that this would hardly suit me. After all, just why had I murdered my foolish, presumptuous old instructor, consequently enduring a decade of misery, being imprisoned, hunted, driven from my homeland? So that I, Lucio Savagni, could become the greatest wildmage in the world -- as well I should. So here I was, employed on a fief where none knew of my magic, preparing to unleash my power upon Tortall, and in the dazzling brilliance it would cast, to stride forward and claim the position I had sought all my life. But this, my dear, is where *you* came in."  
  
She narrowed her eyes, fighting her dizziness and not yielding an iota.  
  
"You see, Sarrasri, in my time at Ravenpeak I heard a great deal about you -- the maiden who spoke to animals, healed them, took their shapes. Tortall's Wildmage, love of the great Numair Salmalín, and in *excellent* favor with the Crown. Herein was the obstacle to my goal: you. Tortall already had a resident wildmage."  
  
Daine prickled defensively at his words, preparing herself for battle.  
  
"But your removal was not completely beyond my reach. More difficult than had been the case with old Viciendo, certainly, as you, being a demigoddess, are comparable to my own power. My advantage? I knew this. *You* had no knowledge of an equal. With cunning, you could be overcome. And cunning is no weakness of mine.  
  
"So I called in a flock of hurroks at hand and had them harass the fief convincingly. Which, of course, brought you and Salmalín down here, what with the urgency of the situation." He sneered again, dark eyes glittering under the thick, dark hair that curled over his forehead. "It must have been *quite* a shock to witness hurroks whose presence was closed off to you. A similar working cloaked my own magic; you must understand, my advantage lay largely in your ignorance of my presence. Of course, you did breach my wards once, on the East Tower --" disgust showed on the man's face -- "when you probed one of the hurroks. I'm afraid I was a bit careless. But once out in the plains -- alone, happily -- a taste of my magic drew you nearer, and into the claws of my hurroks." He shrugged contemptuously. "A shame you made it back."  
  
His words swirled around in her head. Sweat beaded her forehead now, crawling down perilously close to her eyes. Fleetingly she wondered if Savagni could read her mind, if they were connected as she was to the People. She tried to push back the panic and focus. How long had he been telling his story? He seemed nearly done. And was she imagining it, or was a feeling of power building in the dank air of the cave?  
  
"The remainder of my flock, as well, failed to take you today, thanks to Salmalín. I speculated that showing you my reinforcements would call him back to Ravenpeak." The wildmage shook his head as though amused. "All I have heard of you has been demonstrated. You truly are too honorable for your own good, the both of you. But now...." He smiled broadly.  
  
"Don't you see, Sarrasri?" he continued. "That is what detained you from true greatness, from true power. Wild magic is an element of nature, and in that very trait it is greater than any Gifted magecraft. You, unfortunately, have failed to deploy your magic to your own benefit; that is, not as you could have. A wildmage of our caliber... could make himself ruler of Tortall. Possibly of the world...." His dark eyes flickered. "Given, that is, a lack of competitors." Again, that slow, crazed smile. "And so we have reached the heart of the matter." 


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: Ha! _Finally _over my writer's block! Thank you everyone at TDD who extended their help and support – without you, I'd… well, I'd be in pretty much the same state that prompted that rant. You saved me! *hugs*

At long last, the Final Confrontation Scene… and another cliffie. :D More magical ethics – after all, it's pretty much the theme of the story – but also a good fight scene, which I hope comes together in reading. But my beta said it works, so it must. *nods decidedly* You know, it occurred to me that I've been deviated from Tammy's style a lot… embellishing the actual events with the protagonist's emotional state/reactions, and the prose with more vivid descriptions. Maybe I should regress to Tammy's more simple/direct language – what do you think? Maybe this is better for RP? *musing* 

Thanks: Melody, I LOVE you. *hugs* Without you I'd be drifting in space, and you put terra firma under my feet. Yes, he really does need drastic psychological treatment, but that's the whole fun of bad guys. *grin* And such flattery… I'm honored that you compared my own villain *stroking Savagni* to He-Whose-Name-Must-Be-Hyphenated….

Chapter 12

            In the space of a second, her vertigo was replaced by the rush in her blood that rose to the declaration of battle. There was no room for fear; she had first to defeat this arrogant man who gloated over his power -- the same as hers -- and used it to enslave her friends. This monster who didn't care about the very People he was bonded to. 

            She lifted her head defiantly. "You're crazy," she informed Savagni. "Just the fact that you're too evil to tell how evil you are proves it."

            He shrugged. "Those of a narrower vision are too limited to understand my motives or potential." A sharp-eyed wolf on his left yawned, displaying formidable rows of teeth punctuated by a pair of curved fangs.

            She leered at him. "Oh, I see. So, you aim to make yourself the grandest wildmage in the land, and make an army of the People to back you up." She scoffed. "If I were you, I surely wouldn't walk around with my nose in the air. You know why? You're no _wildmage__. _You're a monster, just as much as those hurroks of yours – you're just as evil, savage, coldblooded, and greedy. A wildmage is a friend of the People, and a link between them and two-leggers. You just use them for your own foul means. You're just a… a parasite."

            He laughed; she felt as if cords running through her muscles had been pulled taut. She wanted to lunge at him, bow or no. "Girl," he told her, "you would do best to leave such matters to those better qualified to judge. You see, Sarrasri, you apparently cling to the innocent idealism that comes with youth –" he spoke lazily, as though over a glass of wine – "and a most deplorable want of worldly experience. Or rather, a failure to construe it, to come to those conclusions that one must learn from life. What you have yet to deduce, my dear, is that in this world, ultimately, the task of making one's life falls to oneself and oneself _only_; we can expect little assistance from others. Accordingly, it would do us best to deploy our assets to their fullest extent. Some, however, choose to restrain such abilities, and thus fall short of their true potential, more often than not finding themselves trampled under the hooves of the stampede of ambition. I have chosen to take care to avoid this. True, I have paid my price; but likewise will I reap my rewards. 

            "What you also fail to comprehend is the power the gods entrust to wildmages like us. _Why_ would we be granted undisputed ascendancy over animals – that they must submit unequivocally to our word – if it fell to us to repress such authority?" He shook his head as though exasperated at her shortcomings. "We are _meant_ to rule over the… so-called 'People', Sarrasri. It is our place."

            He had probably wanted to scare her, and purposely stirred up the People around him: several of the wildcats were now pacing, not approaching Daine openly, but clearly intent on her. The wolves' bright eyes were fixed on her with a hunter's eagerness she knew well. Her confidence faltered as she felt the escalation of the challenge; what _would_ she do if he set them on her? She hadn't thought it through. Could she fight them? Actually hurt them, to defend herself? The thought made her stomach twist. 

            "Look at me," she told Savagni, trying to keep her voice centered. "_I_ don't make slaves of them, though I could." With infinite care, she reached out – slowly – to the People, trying to breach the other wildmage's power wrapped around them. If she could just get _through_ to them…. "You know why? Because they're my _friends._Can you even understand that? Have you ever _had_ any, yourself?" She finished with a reckless jibe.

            His condescending manner was unperturbed. "How many of them, do you think," he asked her slowly, "have gotten killed for you?" 

            Her temper flared up. What right did this – _man _have to accuse her? "It was their _choice_, damn it! It always is. I always give them more'n ample warning – I _try _to keep them out of danger –"

            "—And they _insist_ on coming to your aid, I'm sure," he drawled. "But just think. Would they _be_ in danger if it weren't for you? Of course not. Like it or not, you pull them into human matters, and into jeopardy. Admit it." He sneered. "Like it or not, you've made yourself their mistress. It's what you are, _Wildmage_."

            _"Liar," she hissed, and in a fury drove through his barriers on the People's minds –_

            There was an explosion of power as he struck at her magic with his own, driving her back out. Daine gasped at the jolt, then stared breathlessly into his triumphant face, dark eyes lit with sadistic pleasure, leering at her. 

            "My, my," Savagni remarked, voice splintering on the edges in his eagerness. "I see you're endeavoring to claim my charges, hmm? I can't have that, I'm afraid…."

            His power flared like the flick of a whip, giving his People the word. They lunged at her, snarling, powerful muscles coiling and releasing, lips curled back in malice, sharp eyes narrowed. For a split second the betrayal of her friends – those who had helped her and fought for her all her life, those she'd healed and taught and spoken for – drowned out every other thought in her head. It was like a knife in the back, the ground falling away under her feet. She swayed, almost dropping her bow, wanting to cry out – but they were upon her. Desperately she threw out her own magic, grabbing their minds, holding them off her against the other wildmage's orders. They paused a few paces away, steps faltering, clearly dizzied with the shock. She felt their agony at the controversy, twisting their minds between the two commands; for a second she wavered, wanting more than anything to relieve them from her command. But she _had to defend herself; Savagni would show no mercy, and have them rip her to shreds if she let them at her. She held her power in place, pressing it on them, to keep them away. The hounds whined in protest, pawing at their heads; one of the wildcats collapsed drunkenly. Her heart clenched painfully. She was _hurting _them…._

            Savagni's voice slithered through the maelstrom in her head. "So you see – Wildmage," he said smoothly. "Proof – you use them to your own advantage, regardless of their consequent sacrifice." 

            Burning hatred flushed through Daine. With a snarl somewhat feral itself, she dropped her magic and jumped – Windracer flapped away to perch on a torch holder – dropping her bow and taking shape in the air. Clad now in a raven's coal-black feathers, she flapped away from the assault, rising to the cavern's ceiling. Below her, Savagni strode away from the entrance where he'd been standing, moving out into the center of the cave; his bow was raised and trained on her. She glanced around the torchlit cavern, taking in its dimensions. What shape would be best for defense? She needed agility to evade the wildmage's bow. Swiftly she changed into a starling's form and darted around the cavern, weaving in tight, intricate loops. 

            She felt his magic flex again – it was so _strange_ to feel another wildmage's power, as strong as her own! – as he changed shape as well. A russet hawk leapt into the air, coming towards her, eyes cold and talons extended. A startling coolness trickled through her as she calculated her chances. With her antics, she could probably outmaneuver him, but she would eventually tire from the pursuit. Better to take a battle form and confront him in earnest. 

            She paused in the air and slid into a raptor shape – an eagle's body for power and weapons, a falcon's wings for speed and agility. Screeching a challenge, she sped at Savagni, talons outstretched. 

            At first it seemed he wasn't bothering to defend himself; he simply hung in the air as though waiting. At the last second, she saw his shoulder muscles contract just before he flipped over in the air, twisting out of her line of flight; she sped by him, carried by the force of her attack. Struggling to turn around, she heard the rush of air churned by his wings, and knew he had an attack ready for her. She spun with claws out, and he all but slammed into her, claws raking across her pale-feathered breast. The impact knocked her back, and she twisted over and pushed herself higher as he fell away. She ignored the burning of the wounds he'd just inflicted, banking until she could strike again. After circling tightly, she fell on him from behind, sinking her claws into his back. He screeched in pain and twisted violently, breaking her grip on him and spinning around to face her. The wildmages battered against each other, all but pressed together, raking with claws and beak, each screaming his rage. Feathers flew from the fray; they flapped wildly to maneuver around each other, each trying to gain the upper hand as well as stay aloft, but they were dropping. 

            They slammed into the stone floor. Daine broke away and rolled, coming to her feet with all the grace and control of the tiger shape she'd taken. Powerful muscles rippled under thick fur slashed across with black stripes – and, on the chest, with the wound she'd taken earler. Her heavy paws made no sound on the floor; curved yellow claws pushed out of them. Her wide golden eyes, set apart in a broad, whiskered face, surveyed her foe with a serenity that belied the rush inside her. 

            He had copied her, and now paced the cavern floor with smooth, calculated movements, watching her sharply. His tail flexed and coiled with his movements; a pulse throbbed in his shaggy white throat. They circled each other for long moments, the tension between them stretched out like a cord pulled taut. The animals in the cave had withdrawn to the walls, and watched the wildmages in combat, sitting at attention. 

            Daine snarled, lip curling back over pointed, deadly teeth, a growl issuing from her throat. She reveled in the sheer, graceful power of her tiger form, every movement perfectly balanced, as though calculated, muscles moving in perfect accordance. Her blood rose with the heat of battle, and she bounded towards Savagni with a roar of challenge that filled the cavern. 

            He waited, crouched low on his front legs, eyes narrowed. As she rose slightly, stretched forward to grasp his neck in her jaws, he reared on his hind legs, twisting away, and she fell back, snarling. He rose again as though to seize the back of her neck, and she reared briefly, raising one forepaw to fend him off, as she pulled away out of reach. Darting forward again, crouched low, she swung out one paw, claws unsheathed, to swipe him across the face. He roared as the blow knocked his head to the side and left the slashes from her claws across his nose. With a growl, he leapt at Daine in earnest. 

            His bulk slammed in to her, knocking her to the ground. Snarling, they rolled over and over, each grappling to sink his jaws into the other's throat, clawing and twisting. Pain exploded on her nose as Savagni struck his paw across it, and she faltered, gasping. In the split-second opening, he gained the upper hand and pinned her to the floor beneath him, paws on her shoulders. She loosed a bone-rattling roar and struggled, trying to claw at him, but he kept his grip on her. He bared his jaws in a snarl, and bent down to clamp them on her throat. 

            Her body seemed to evaporate from under him as she shifted in half the space of a heartbeat. A six-foot python, she slid around his neck and pulled her coils tight, squeezing with every ounce of strength in her. His jaws gaped in pain as he wheezed and tried to claw her away, but she contracted herself tighter around his throat and held on.

            As she had, he seemed to suddenly disappear from her grasp; Daine dropped to the floor, hissing. The tiny mouse he had become to escape her scuttled away, then morphed into a hawk that flapped into the air, preparing to fall down on her and strike. She changed again – a wolf shape – and rose on her hind legs to snap at the hawk if he dared come near. 

            Suddenly Savagni's voice sounded in her mind. _Enough! He sounded enraged, as though she had foiled his plans infuriatingly in resisting this long. I can tell you're quite a cocky one, Sarrasri, he snarled. Not only do you consider yourself wonderfully __clever, you think you're too caring and honorable to ever dream of hurting your dear _friends_, don't you? He paused, but she could feel the hate radiating from him. Well, girl, I don't suppose you've ever had them against you, have you? He dropped lower, circling above her. Let's see if you stay by your lofty resolutions in the end. _

            She felt that flick of magic again, as he called in the People in the cave, bearing down on them harder than ever. They rushed in toward her, snarling and barking, maddened by the wildmage's command. With a thrill of horror, she realized that Savagni had cut off her escape from above. Now, the hunters closed in around her, deadly teeth bared. 

            Once again Daine could only hold them off desperately with her magic, and again was filled with their pain, being pulled from two sides. Tears burned her eyes. How could that man hurt the People as he did? Was he completely oblivious to their pain? Too cold-hearted to feel it, or to care? 

            She could feel his maniacal triumph in her mind. So you see, he gloated, I was right. It just goes to show, Sarrasri – in the end, with no other way, you would sacrifice them to save yourself. You're no different than what you so _righteously_ accuse me of.

            At that moment, she swore to prove him wrong, no matter what the price. In a surge of defiance, she took her will off the People, no longer bothering to resist Savagni's orders to attack her. In a moment they recovered from the pressure and rushed at her. Yowling, a wildcat leaped at her, his weight slamming Daine into the ground. A shaggy, dark grey wolf with tawny eyes lowered his jaws to her throat – but held. Her stomach twisted: for the first time in her life, she was helpless, at the mercy of a wolf who would readily kill her at the command. Desperate, she felt for his mind and those of his companions. 

            Stupid girl. Savagni's sadistic tone echoed through all the minds of the People under him, his steely magic amplified through them, filling them. Daine gasped; she lost the wolf shape she'd been in and fell back into her human self, lying helplessly on the rough stone floor. She could feel the wolf's teeth pressing into her throat, smell the overwhelming reek of his breath – the smells of blood and dead meat, the smells of a hunter. And now she was the hunted. Her fists clenched, but she refused to cry out.

            She forced herself to focus her thoughts, and spoke to Savagni. I'm _not like you, she told him. Gritting her teeth, she tilted her head back, exposing her throat more openly to the wolf holding her. _

            I would never hurt them, she continued, even to save myself. I'll prove it. She remained still, not struggling, resigned to any fate. 

            A tall, solid black wolf with moonlike pale grey eyes approached to stand over her. It was him. He bared his teeth in a savage grin. 

            No, Sarrasri. He seemed to relish every word. You're not like me. He leaned down, lowering his nose nearly to touch hers, his pearly eyes inches away. 

            You're right. I certainly would use them, in every way necessary, to further my own means. And that, my dear, is how it is that I will rise above you. It is as I said: everyone for himself, and one must make full use of every possible advantage. You did not, Wildmage of Tortall. 

            And so you are paying the price. 

            She felt a sharp prick on her ankle, where she'd least expected it, and a slender, scaled form slid over her shin. Her leg twitched involuntarily; she drew a sharp breath and turned her head to the side, squirming as much as her captor allowed. The wildmage's laughter rolled around her head, and she looked back into his pale hunter's eyes, now shining with maniacal triumph. And then she understood, with a start, as darkness clouded over her vision, that he had won. 


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Hm, what have we here? ...Some drama at first, then down to business. Yes, poor Daine is encountering… obstacles. Short one, too. I'm sorry updates are slow lately. I'll _have _to get moving, though; I want to finish all my fics before school starts. 

Chapter 13

            Sinking into a dark abyss, something deep, deep down seemed to waken, as though the gravity of the moment allowed it to rise to her awareness. A long-buried secret, returning to taunt her. 

            It was Savagni. Something about his words and nature was far too familiar. Dimly she _knew_ she'd seen him before, or even more – that she'd known him, somehow, in another lifetime or plane. She struggled to place it – when else might he have appeared in her life? – but the answer stayed beyond her reach. 

            She was losing her grasp on the world. She tried to gasp, but she was too tired to cry out in protest, much less to keep fighting. She was slipping away. _No! _she thought desperately. _I must hold on. I can't let go… I am…._

Who was she?

            Furious at herself for losing sight of her identity, she cried out as fiercely as she could, albeit only in her mind, _I am Veralidaine Sarrasri, daughter of Weiryn of the hunt and Sarra the Green Lady, Wildmage of Tortall, friend of the People, beloved of Numair Salmalín…. _She repeated it over and over. 

            The still-remaining puzzle poked through her frantic assertions as she slipped into darkness. _Foe…what name did I know you by when last we met? By what name did I call you…_

~~~~~

_            …when last our paths crossed? _The words echoed in her head a thousand times over, scattering harshly throughout her being like the shards of a broken promise.

            The darkness dissolved. Daine opened her eyes. 

            She was in a forest, standing fully dressed on a dirt path that sloped up to a cottage. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling the ground; tree leaves rustled softly in the breeze; birds chirped merrily. She felt none of the People. Not a single one. 

            Up the hill, the cottage door slammed. Two people rushed out to stare at her – a sweet-faced blonde woman with her hair pinned up, a tall man with antlers planted in his curly hair. They were her parents.

            "Daine?" her mother called.

            Daine stood rooted to the spot, numb and trembling, staring at her surroundings. She'd been here before. And given what had just happened, it could mean only one thing.

            She found her voice. _"No!" _She clawed at her surroundings as if to make this place release her. The trees and sky and summer-fragrant air only seemed to press closer, swamping her. She doubled over, stricken, still trying to somehow escape from the forest around her. She curled up on the ground, convulsing, knees drawn up to her chest. She clapped her hands over her mouth, but broken sobs burst through. 

            Gentle hands gripped her forearms; Sarra looked anxiously into her eyes. "Daine, sweet –"

            _"No!" _she shrieked again, pushing her mother away. "No… please…." Her head spun. Her insides bucked; bile pushed up her throat. 

            "Daine, listen." Sarra put an arm around her daughter; this time Daine merely curled up again, head down on her knees, eyes squeezed shut, still wracked with sobs. If she closed her eyes and wished hard enough, surely she would wake up back home with another life, another chance. Surely one mistake could be forgiven, one grievous mishap revoked.

            "Dearest, please calm down," Sarra pleaded. "It's going to be all right. You're going to be fine here –"

            Damned if she was going to settle for an eternity in the Divine Realms, living happily with her parents like a good little demigoddess. She pulled out of her mother's embrace and half-rolled, half-crawled away, leaning on her hands, lost in grief.

            "No," she whispered, suddenly exhausted. "I can't… I just can't…." Her words were cut off by sobs. This time no one approached her; her parents both watched her intently from a few paces away, Sarra kneeling where she'd held Daine, Weiryn standing. Neither spoke. 

            Daine tried to control her voice. "Numair… and Tortall… and the People…." How could she explain that she _couldn't _die, she was too needed – and she needed too much? And she hadn't finished the battle. If she died, _he _would become the Wildmage – and she couldn't let that happen. 

            At the thought, the outrage of what had happened came back to Daine, and her strength returned in a flood of anger. She turned back to face her parents, breathing hard. "Did you _see_ what happened?" she demanded. "Did you see what he _did?_" Savagni's words echoed in her mind, taunting, triumphant: _You, unfortunately, have failed to deploy your magic to your own benefit… and so you are paying the price. _She'd stayed true to her principles – she would _never _sacrifice her friends, not like _him _– and he'd used it against her. 

            "Yes," Weiryn said heavily. "We saw."

            _"And?"_Steaming, Daine rose to her feet, keeping her distance from her parents. Her hands clenched into fists. "Are you going to _let_ it happen? It's not right – it's foul, and you know it well." 

            "Daine, I'm sorry." Tears filled Sarra's eyes; she too stood. "I'm so terribly sorry, sweet. But we can hardly do anything about it now – now that you're here…." She trailed off awkwardly. 

            Daine snorted. "Mouse manure. I've been here before more than once, and I went back easily enough then."

            "Yes, but those were _accidents,_ grievous ones –" Sarra was twisting her hands in her apron. 

            "So you're saying that now I'm stuck here for good, dead and gone as far as my friends are concerned, because – what? Because Savagni beat me fair and square? _Is that what you're saying?" _She found herself angrier than she could ever remember being with her parents. Her temples throbbed. 

            "Veralidaine… the matter is complicated," Weiryn said hesitantly. "You understand, he is the son of our brother Cianto."

            "I heard. So, Cianto lets his son run wild in the Mortal Realms, making the People his playthings and slaves and killing other wildmages so he can make the most of his own power – and _no one_ objects to it?" Daine's lip curled in disgust. "And we humans _look up _to the gods to set justice on the world. Fine job they're doing." 

            "Daine, please calm down –" Sarra began. 

            "I will not calm down! I have a fair deal to _do _down there, and now I'm _dead_ because that – that _thing _challenged me to prove myself a friend of the People, and when I did, he killed me for it!"

            "Daine –"

            "And now you're telling me none of the gods will lift a finger about it, because Savagni's one of your own! Well, so am I, and what just happened is the most twisted thing I've ever seen Fate and the gods allow, and I am _not _going to quiet down and settle in like you all seem to want me to until someone _does _something about the fact that I just got _murdered_ for protecting the People!" Her voice rose shrilly. 

            "Veralidaine –" her father's voice was stiff. "Listen to me –"

            "No, Da, you listen to me. Eight years ago, we were standing in front of Mithros and he said that I was a problem because I was godborn, and godborn tend to cause trouble wherever they go, especially me. Right now there's a half-god down there who is causing a fair deal more trouble than I ever did, and you can _see_ that he means to cause more now that I'm – _out of the way, _so I think it would be the wisest thing for the gods to do something about him!" 

            Her parents fell silent, Sarra clearly on the verge of tears, Weiryn watching Daine gravely. She stared back impudently, refusing to back down. 

            "She's right, Weiryn," said a gravelly voice. A large, striped badger waddled into the family's midst, bringing his familiar musky scent. He nodded at Daine. "Hello, kit."

            "Hullo, badger," she replied. "Good to see you, though I wish it weren't such a bad time at the moment."

            "Can't blame you," he agreed, then turned back to her parents. "It's time the Great Ones did something about Cianto's boy. And Daine –" he glanced back at her – "shouldn't have died."

            "Thanks," she muttered. 

            "Look at things from her point of view," the badger continued. "It _was_ nasty down there – you saw for yourself that Savagni plays dirty. I think you'd see things clearer if you weren't so set on keeping Daine here with you."

            "It's not such a horrible fate," Sarra said defensively. 

            _"Ma _–" Daine sputtered. "Maybe you've forgotten what it _means _to die. I – I am not going to stand for what Savagni did. And I'm fair _young _for it!"

            "Very true," added the badger. "And think of what she'd be leaving behind."

            Daine bit her lip as she thought of Numair. _Don't get killed, Daine… I love you. _She had _promised_….

            "Badger," argued her father, "it's not as simple as it's been before. We can't send her back without the Great Ones' permission. We would have to call Cianto into court, and present the case…."

            "Then let's get started," the badger suggested. A definite note of disapproval had entered his tone. "In case you haven't noticed," he added gravely, "it's an important case here at hand." He looked pointedly at Daine. 

            Weiryn sighed, absently fingering his antlers. "You're right," he said after a moment. "It's just – going to be trouble, sure enough. Cianto…." He trailed off.

            "Has his own ideas," Sarra supplied grimly. "And he's in a fair position with the Great Ones – he's always been the finest vassal. Like when they were fighting Uusoae." She nodded at her daughter. 

            "Well," Daine said quietly. "I think he'll have to do some explaining about this one. The Great Ones give a care to justice, I'd think."

            "Daine," Weiryn said gravely. "I'm sorry. I apologize for not taking the matter seriously at first. We will certainly speak with the Great Ones and Cianto, to get his son in order, and you back in the Mortal Realms." 

            Daine found herself at a momentary loss for words; it seemed less than fitting to thank her father. "Good," she said simply after a moment's hesitation. Then she sighed and looked down as the burden of the task before them weighed fully on her shoulders. There was a long way between her and her life in the Mortal Realms. 

            "Weiryn," said the badger, "let's you and I go tell the Great Ones what's amiss, and request an audience with them and Cianto – with Daine – to work it out." 

            "Very well. Daine, Sarra, we should be back in an hour's time." With that, white fire gathered around Weiryn and the badger; when it faded, both had vanished. 

            Daine set her jaw. Too much could happen in an hour. But then, she doubted her father and the badger could manage much faster. 

            "Daine?" Her mother touched her arm gently, sweet blue eyes filled with concern. "Are you all right?"

            Aside from the fact that I'm dead, Daine thought darkly, and we're all going to have to fight to get me alive again, I'm as well as can be expected. Aloud she said, "I'm fine." She sighed impatiently, looking at the lush trees and brush around her, then had an idea. "Ma –" she looked eagerly at her mother – "you can see things in the Mortal Realms when you wish, can't you? Through fire, and water, and such?"

            "Why, yes, we can." 

            "Good." Daine was already striding up the hill toward her parents' house. "Then show me what passes down at Ravenpeak."


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Well. Um. I hope you enjoy reading this more than I did writing it. Thanks, as usual, to Candice - and the Dove members who helped me with a name. 

Oh, I should also add: thanks to all my lovely reviewers, for their flattery and encouragement! Especially to **Jolinar-nrw**, whose kind words allowed me that pang of guilt (over neglecting the fic) that I thought would wring an update out of me… course, that was in December. I got the bulk of this written - painfully - before Winter Break was over, but logistics and transitions dragged on through the quarter, much to my own disappointment. 

Chapter 14

Daine crouched by the hearth, staring tersely into the flames as though she could will them into revealing what she wanted to see. Her fingers drummed on the polished wooden boards of her parents' floor. The current predicament had flooded her with anxious energy, and she was far from releasing it all. 

"You've been watching us all along?" she asked, glancing sidelong at her mother. 

Sarra nodded. "Fair often. Your father and I used to mean to only look in every now and then, when it looked like you were tangling with trouble, but such times got more and more often, lately." She extended a hand toward the flames, scattering a puff of white sparks. The fire flared, then sank almost to its embers. 

"Ma…." Daine rolled her eyes discreetly. "You needn't always be nosing into my affairs. I can more than take care of myself." Would she never escape the parental net?

"You can never know what might come up, Daine. Especially in _your_ line of work." The Green Lady looked sharply at her daughter. "We worry about you, that's all. And with good reason." 

Daine bit her tongue firmly. This discussion was feeling all too familiar. 

A picture crept into the flames; Daine leaned forward, squinting. It was the cave where she'd met and fought Savagni, the torches burning lower now. The People she'd seen were there, sitting huddled and perfectly still, as though hypnotized - which was likely. And sure enough - her stomach wrenched - there was the wildmage himself, human and dressed again, sitting against the wall of the cave, also unmoving. 

Daine frowned. "Could you show him closer?" she murmured, eyes riveted on the fire. After a moment, the flames contracted again, then grew this time to reveal a new image. Up close, Daine could see his features twisted in concentration, twitching occasionally as though in discomfort or frustration. Sweat trailed along his tanned brow. 

"He must be talking with the People, or immortals," Daine reasoned. "But why would he be upset? He usually orders them, from what I've heard, and few things would stand against his command…." She rubbed her chin in thought. "If I had to wager, I'd say he was struggling with them, that they were fighting, even. Could be Windracer pulled together some of the others who weren't happy with Savagni - which would be a fair amount - especially after seeing what he did down in that cave. After all, animals _can_ be stubborn enough, when they set their will to it." Some were more naturally so than others; she had never made peace with such species as rats or camels. 

Sarra looked worried. "Do they have a chance?" 

"I don't know." Daine took a deep breath. "There isn't much time. Could you show me Ravenpeak itself?"

Sarra nodded; the fire bunched down once again, then grew slowly. This time it showed Ravenpeak's proud walls and turrets braced against the open azure sky, but frantic with activity. Hurroks, their sides and muzzles stained with gore, swooped from every angle as Ravenpeak's archers tried to fire in all directions at once. Again, the hurroks tended to fall upon the fighters in groups, and twisted in surprisingly nimble maneuvers, making hard targets. Ground and air were one great battlefield, laced with the screams of both battle-rage and agony and the whip of arrows. 

"Goddess." Daine sat back and closed her eyes briefly as her spirits declined further. Even with Savagni occupied with the People, she had no guarantee the hurroks couldn't go about their deadly business independently. Ravenpeak's forces were bruised from the last attack, and now, by all appearances, the flock had grown. They hadn't known of this new siege, and reinforcements would take at least a day to arrive - why hadn't they called on Fief Riak from the first? She clenched her fists, barely feeling her mother's hand on her shoulder.

"Sarra?" 

Both women turned; Daine's father stood in the doorway, the badger at his feet. Weiryn nodded to her. "Daine. The Great Ones will see us. Are you ready?"

"More than," she said grimly, getting to her feet. Resentfully, she noted the worried glance her parents exchanged. "Let's go, please. Now." 

Weiryn nodded; the room around them dissolved in a cloud of white fire. 

~~~~~

When her vision cleared, Daine found herself standing at the foot of a towering and elaborately carved fountain, apparently completely of ivory. Sparkling water leaped from its many tiers to swirl in the large basin below. Awed, she turned to take in the rest of her surroundings. The polished marble tiles that she stood on stretched as far as the eye could see; lush grapevines twined around tall marble pillars. The sky overhead was a silky, delicate twilight blue, and stars had just begun to poke out of its depths. There was no sign of either a moon or a sun. 

Some thirty yards ahead of her, two commanding figures sat side by side on golden and silver thrones. A few yards to either side, about twenty more people were seated in lines that curved slightly in a shallow crescent. Daine's heart thudded against her ribs. These were the Great Gods, the highest beings that ruled over mortals. 

"Go ahead, dear." Daine heard her mother's voice from behind her and turned; Weiryn and Sarra stood a few paces back. Sarra smiled encouragingly. "Don't be afraid. Go up to the Great Ones. We'll be right here." 

It was good to know her parents were at her back, even if it fell to Daine herself to present her case to the gods. The Wildmage squared her shoulders and strode towards the assembly ahead of her, trying to appear confident yet modest. She could feel their eyes on her as she drew nearer; her palms were sweaty. 

At a scant ten paces from the central thrones, she dropped to one knee on the smooth marble, head bowed and arms at her sides. Vaguely, she wished she taken a brush to her hair before coming here. She also wondered where Cianto was. Did he keep his own hours, even when summoned by the Great Gods?

"Rise, Godborn," proclaimed a woman's voice, smooth and commanding. Daine stood, keeping her head up - if she ever needed to look strong, it was now. The Great Mother Goddess had spoken, and now Daine met her gaze as the gods watched her. The Goddess, on a silver throne, was dressed in a simple floor-length tunic, pure white and flowing. Her sable hair was crowned with silver circlet; her emerald eyes regarded Daine serenely. On her right sat Mithros, resplendent in his golden armor, spear in hand. 

"Welcome, daughter of Weiryn," Mithros declared in his deep voice. "We meet again." His tone was even, if not warm. "We understand you have a grievance to voice." 

The Goddess raised a slender hand. "Speak to us of this trouble, my daughter." She inclined her head to one side. 

"Thank you, my lady," Daine replied, bowing her head shortly. She addressed the assembly. "The grievance I bring concerns another godborn, a wildmage of powers much like mine. All his life he has treated the People as slaves and playthings, feeding off of them to further his own ambitions and not troubling himself to their aid when he might heal or protect them. He has planned, toward his own interests, to eliminate any others of comparable magic, that he himself might stand alone in imperium as Wildmage of the realm." She lowered her gaze. "And so it is that I have perished at his hand. I came to Ravenpeak to investigate the strange abilities of hurroks plaguing the fief. Tracing the cause to Savagni, I encountered him today in a cave some miles out of Ravenpeak, in the presence of an assemblage of People - hunters - whom he had poisoned with his magic, binding them to his will. He set them upon me; while I might have repelled them magically, such resistance dealt them harm. When I did, to defend myself -" she bit her lip as anger rose again - "he scorned my conduct as no less base than his, as I had accused." Daine lifted her head, returning the gods' stares. "And so - in keeping of my duties as Wildmage and friend of the People, I have fallen by the hand of another - one who treads responsibility and honor underfoot in his own selfish pursuits.

"I invoke you to right this wrong, and to intercede in Lucio Savagni's actions. Too many years he has exploited his magic, and been a plague upon the People as well as the humans he attacks. He is Godborn, and surely he must answer to the gods' justice." She bowed her head in deference. "Pray grace the Mortal Realms with your judgment." 

Finished, Daine waited as they considered her, praying (ironic, she thought) that her speech had come over well. She met their appraising gaze, painstakingly composing herself, but her hands trembled.

At last, the Goddess's rosy lips curved into a faint smile. "You have changed, my daughter, since last you stood before us." 

Daine couldn't help but smile at the thought. At sixteen, she had been in this very courtyard, under the gods' eyes, first to argue for the Stormwing's right to their behavior and then to choose a world in which to live. Then, she had been battle-worn and -mussed, frightened, overwhelmed, exhausted. Then, she had addressed the Great Ones with her typical bluntness, often so ill-used in the presence of the mortal highborn. But even then, she seemed to have made some impression; hope swelled at the thought of a better presentation now. 

A ragged old woman on the Mithros's right favored Daine with her lopsided, scant-toothed grin. "Now, I've an ear for _this_ one's story," she declared, and winked at Daine. Turning to the other gods, her expression sobered. "She's right," the Graveyard Hag told them. "Cianto's boy's a nasty one. He needs discipline, sure enough." 

"Bringing us to our second supplicant," Mithros pronounced. His gaze shifted to somewhere beyond Daine, and he nodded. "Come forward, brother." 

Daine spun: behind and on her right stood a tall and impossibly muscled man, wearing a simple leather tunic and sandals. A finely made and polished longbow rested in one hand, and a quiver of arrows hung across his back. His hands and forearms were wrapped with leather, marking an experienced archer. His appearance was typical of Tyra - the dark coloring, the deep features - but for one aspect: his eyes were not the dark wells fitting of his ethnicity, but sharp and golden. Together with a strong, beak-like nose, he gave the impression of a giant bird of prey.

Now he strode forward with muscular ease, coming to a level with Daine. Ignoring her, he bowed deeply to the gods, touching one fist to his brow in a salute. "My lord Mithros. My lady Goddess." His voice was deep and powerful. 

"Greetings, Cianto," the Sun Lord replied. "Do you understand why you have been summoned today?"

"I understand the reason concerns this -" he turned towards Daine, surveying her haughtily - "_mortal _maiden." 

_"Half _mortal, mind you." Sarra's voice came from behind Daine; she turned to look sharply at her mother, wishing she would stay out of it. 

Cianto raised an eyebrow in a haughty manner not unlike his son's before turning back to the Great Gods. Daine glared at him, anger pulsing inside her. 

"The matter touches you closely, brother," the Goddess continued. A sharp note seemed to have entered her voice. "It concerns your son."

"I heard Veralidaine's complaint, my lady." 

"And you understand her proposal?"

"Indeed." The Tyran god turned slowly back to Daine, apparently sizing her up. "So. She accuses my son of misusing his powers, ill-treating the People - and now, _after_ one-on-one combat with him, asks you to return her to life and punish my son instead." 

_--She has reason, Cianto.-- _The voice startled Daine; she'd forgotten what it was like to hear Gainel's mind-speech. _--The "combat" of which you speak was hardly level, as your son turned the People against her. Does it not call upon the gods to administer justice in the Mortals Realms, in cases such as this?--_

The Dream King's ghostly eyes turned briefly to Daine; she smiled gratefully. Never had she been as glad for his friendship as she was now. 

"So it has long been," replied Cianto. "But also, the gods have long resolved not to meddle in the affairs of mortals to the point of despotism. Humans conduct their own affairs amongst themselves."

A hush followed in the great court. 

"Where a god is directly concerned, he may intervene," Cianto continued. "If a mortal takes a vow binding himself to a god, or if a mortal event falls clearly within a god's area of influence, the god may take a hand in matters. The case at hand, however, comes under neither instance." 

"I must object." The breezy, musical voice came from a white-eyed and blue-robed woman, Shakith. "A god's own half-mortal children must surely come under his area of influence." 

"Ah." Cianto smiled triumphantly. "You repeat my words, sister, when six years ago my son was hunted by his own kind, fleeing his home. He suffered; I might have helped him. But, then, this very assembly forbade me."

"Your son, Cianto, committed a crime against mortals." Mithros was speaking again. "He was subject to mortal justice." 

"And so has he done now, if you must call his actions a 'crime' - hardly the case, if I may say so. His dispute was with Veralidaine and with her only. The matter was and should have been settled between them." 

"It is not with whom your son's quarrel was that is being questioned." Shakith's voice had sharpened. "Surely you understand it is his methods." She raised a graceful, silver-nailed hand to rest her chin on. 

Daine vaguely sensed her adversary stiffening. "Pray go on." 

_--It seems Veralidaine has previously enlightened us. _Attention swung back to Gainel._ Your son, Cianto, is a different kind of wildmage than she.--_

"Granted." 

_--In the sense that she, brother, acts solely and consistently in the interests of the People, even at expense of her own. He, however, directs their efforts and resources, often against their will, toward his own interests. Veralidaine is a friend of the People, while your son considers himself to be their lord and takes liberties as such. It seems Weiryn's daughter is not the first or only to harbor such a complaint.--_

Around the circle, other gods bowed their heads slightly in assent. 

"Very well." Cianto's voice was taut with anger. "If you must have your views on my son's behavior, then you must. There is ample injustice in the Mortal Realms - much of it greater than this - and not all, certainly, calls for intervention from the gods." 

"And so we return to your earlier words," the Goddess remarked. "Where a god is directly concerned -" she paused pointedly - "he may intervene. And where he is called, he must." 

"My lady, I am a god of the hunters that rove the Tyran mountains. When they pray for a well-aimed shot or plentiful game, it is my duty to answer those earnest and worthy. My son's actions are of his own prerogative - and, again, it is not the gods' place to meddle in the private affairs of mortals."

_--The eternal debate,--_ Gainel said impatiently. _--Shall the offspring of a god and a mortal be held in our eyes as mortal, or as our own?--_

"Judge for yourselves," Cianto replied. "Veralidaine has lived all her life as a mortal, among mortals. Only once has she even been present in the Divine Realms, eight years ago - and then, if I recall, she chose to limit herself to her mortal life."

The hooded Black God leaned forward in his seat. "And if Veralidaine were mortal, she would not be here." 

"I'm fully aware, my lord. If I may be so bold to ask…?" Cianto delicately left the inquiry hanging.

"My point, Cianto, is that perhaps we may not treat Veralidaine fully as a mortal. I have known death since the beginning of time, and better than any of you. Countless mortal deaths have passed under my hand." The Black God paused. "And this is not one of them. Weiryn's daughter left the Mortal Realms - and came to us. Why? She is one of ours. So perhaps, Cianto, it is not our place to interfere with mortals' actions - but such is not the situation at hand." 

"Very well, then," the Tyran god said smoothly. "I repeat myself: when my son was hunted by mortals, I was prohibited from taking a hand in his aid - where my brother Weiryn was allowed free passage to his mortal family."

"Not in person," Weiryn interrupted. "I was allowed to _speak _with Sarra, but sent my friend the badger to watch over my daughter."

Daine turned to look sharply at her father. "And I can't say I saw you around much, when I was little. It might've helped - do you know what Ma and I went through in Snowsdale?"

"Daine," her mother said warningly. 

Sarra and Weiryn exchanged glances. "Sharper than the serpent's tooth," he muttered. 

"Especially with ours," Sarra added with a rueful half-smile. 

"To return to the matter at hand -" Cianto put in airily. 

Weiryn straightened slightly. "Indeed. The matter is that in sending the badger to the Mortal Realms, we in no way interfered with mortal happenings."

"Even less," Daine remarked, "because it seems he missed the whole part with me running from the hunters - isn't that right?"

"Yes," Weiryn admitted, with a look meant to silence Daine. "And Cianto's proposed actions, those years ago, would certainly have thwarted those mortals - whom his son had deliberatly wronged." 

"Brother - if I dare say it, you seem to put gods' actions in an altogether impartial light. Can any one of our number -" Cianto addressed the assembly at large - "hold truthfully that our _only _end is justice for all? I must see the Graveyard Hag's intervention in her mortal empire as a response to both the man's relations with his people, and with us." 

The Hag brandished her knobby stick to make a point. "Right you are - and Ozorne needed it, no question about that. He was to answer to me, and he went off-course. Badly."

Cianto extended a hand in her direction. "Exactly - as gods, we are certain to have certain bonds with mortals which may call for intervention on their part. Such _was _my reasoning, when I first appealed to help my son." 

Daine frowned. Hadn't Cianto switched over from his first arguments? How had he gotten there? Her head was beginning to ache with the debate. 

The Goddess was speaking again. "And _our_ reasoning, as we explained, judged against interference in the _mortal_ affairs with which your son was concerned." 

Cianto nodded politely. "Thank you, my lady - it seems you fully understand my view on the current matter." 

Daine grimaced, anger churning her stomach. 

"The battle that passed not long ago," continued the hunt god, "was between two wildmages in the Mortal Realms, living as mortals, and thus with no share in our circle beyond that as mortals. They may be born of gods, it is true, but if we may all set aside our biases -" he gave an ironic nod to Weiryn and Sarra - "how is this battle different from one between any two mortal mages?"

_--And we return once again to the great question.--_ Gainel's mind-voice sounded annoyed. _--What circumstances exactly justify a god's intervention? The finer points of such judgments lie along one's own bent, and can be - difficult to reconcile among differently-minded gods, it seems.--_

We're getting nowhere, Daine thought furiously. No one had _done _anything yet, and Savagni was still running rampant down in the mortal realms. Was this why she had appealed to the Great Gods? She spoke up again. "Gainel's right. You can argue this all day, and it's still a big question on whether Savagni and I should be under mortal judgment or the gods', and whether gods can step into mortal business and whatever matters you please to bring up. Let me try to give you a fresh view of it." She knew her tone was sharper than was wise, but there was no point to beating around the bush. "Here's what it comes down to - Savagni and me as _wildmages. _He wanted me dead so there'd be no danger to his own power in the Mortal Realms. Well, he's gotten his wish - and you know what this means? He's the only major wildmage _left_ down there. There's no one to protect the People from his filthy ways, or stop him from doing just as he wants, now. He'll just keep feeding off the People, getting stronger and stronger - believe me, Savagni's crazy, and he'll stop at nothing - and who knows what it will come to? What could a wildmage with bottomless power behind him do if he puts his mind to it? Look - when I was last here, you had me choose between Mortal and Divine Realms, to stop too much trouble. Dare I say it, it hasn't worked." She let the thought hang in the air for a moment. 

"Plenty of dreadful things can happen down there if you turn away from it," Daine continued quietly. "And mortal though things may be, at least in the beginning, they'll be trouble even for you, if you let them fester. The man down there is a deep, open wound who'll bleed the People dry, and just keep killing - think how much more he could do, with all the People harnessed - if you let him. I know you don't want that to happen."

She looked around at them impatiently, waiting for a response. How could the gods take so long? The problem was blindingly _simple,_ and all this time they'd been stuck on Cianto's crafty rhetoric. 

The gods seemed affected; they were looking around at one another and at Daine with new regard. A woman with wild, flowing hair and a pale turquoise gown that seemed to shimmer like shifting water - the Sea Goddess - nodded slowly to her with a small smile. 

Cianto also seemed to sense the change in the air. "If I may _object,_" he snapped. "This woman asks you to stifle a mortal of free will, to undo his actions in her personal favor. When did the Great Ones take it upon themselves to alter the lives of individual mortals as they saw fit?" 

"We have discussed the matter, Cianto," the Goddess said calmly. "You had your say, as you were entitled." She addressed Daine again. "What action do you suggest be taken, Godborn?"

Daine bit her lip. "You can hardly _kill_ the man," she said quietly. "Take away his magic. Without his power, humans will take care of the rest and punish him for the crimes he committed against _mortal_ law." She glanced sideways at Cianto. 

"Abolish his powers?" the hunt god cried. "Not in a thousand years have the gods taken such drastic action so lightly!"

The Goddess ignored him. "If there are no _further_ objections," she announced, "Veralidaine's proposed retribution will be carried out." The gods seated around her nodded their approval. 

"This is absurd," Cianto snarled. "Far be it from the Great Ones, so I thought, to act so imprudently as the most thoughtless, blundering mortal." 

"Cianto." It was Mithros who spoke, and his powerful voice reverberated around the vast courtyard. Many of the Great Gods had stiffened; the air had tensed like cloth pulled taut. "You are allotted your say in the gods' assembly, and I believe we heard it more than once. However, it is not your place to voice offenses against your betters for the sake of satisfying your personal grievances. We have come to a consensus, and it does not fall to you to challenge that decision - or to hurl wanton insults."

Another moment passed; Daine saw Cianto's biceps flex as he clenched his fists. Then he knelt again, head bowed in submission. 

"Then it is decided," the Goddess said solemnly. She paused, but no one spoke in protest. She turned back to the Tyran god and held out one white hand, palm up. "Come, brother."

Cianto rose, eyes burning, but with a new slump to his shoulders that spoke of defeat. He walked slowly to the center of the court and addressed the assembly at large. "I, Cianto of the hunt, acknowledge the judgment passed on my son by the Great Gods this day - that he should be stripped of the powers endowed by Godbirth." He spoke heavily, but his words had a ring of finality to them. The court remained silent for a long moment as Cianto's words seeped into the air. 

Daine exhaled heavily, barely able to comprehend all that had just happened. She shook her head to clear it, then looked around at her parents for help. 

"And what of Daine?" Sarra demanded, addressing the Great Gods. 

"She was wronged by Cianto's son," added Weiryn. "It is only fitting that the wrong be undone." 

Daine's stomach twisted. _Please… I have to go back. _If she were trapped here, it had all been for nothing. 

Mithros seemed to consider, then nodded gravely. "Your daughter will be returned to the Mortal Realms." 

Daine turned to face her parents, eyes stinging. "I suppose this is goodbye for now," she said, smiling bravely. "Hopefully we'll be seeing each other again soon, and under happier circumstances." 

"We will, dear." Sarra hugged her daughter. She pulled back to look at Daine, smiling. "Look at you, challenging the Great Ones and putting that man to justice. I'm so proud of you." She smoothed back Daine's hair. "You take care of yourself, understand? I won't hear of these foolish risks you've a habit of taking."

"Of course, Ma," Daine said automatically. She turned to embrace her father as well. "Thank you for backing me up."

"It is the least we could do," Weiryn replied. "Listen to your mother, Daine. You should be more careful, in the midst of the mortal wars." He and Sarra exchanged a glance. 

"We should talk sometime," the Green Lady added decidedly. 

"All right," Daine replied shortly, urgent to return to Ravenpeak. She had so much to do yet….

She turned to find the Mother Goddess looking at her expectantly. "Are you prepared to return, Godborn?"

Daine nodded. 

"Then come." The Goddess beckoned. 

With a last smile over her shoulder to her parents, Daine crossed the courtyard toward the Goddess's throne. The distance between them seemed to stretch as she neared, and the gods loomed perceptibly taller. Stopping before the Goddess, Daine realized that, standing, she barely came to the immortal's shoulder. She smelled jasmine and running water, and felt a strangle tingle to the air. The Mother leaned forward, a smile touching her lips, and seemed to radiate a soft yet intense light that made Daine blink. 

"Well done, Godborn," the Goddess whispered, and extended a hand to rest on Daine's brow. Daine jumped; the touch was like a cloud of stars spilling into her. She closed her eyes, and fell away from the courtyard. 

~~~~~

Tumbling through space touched by the light of distant stars, she felt a brazen, amber presence at her side - not surrounding her, but neither could she escape it. And, somehow, she sensed Savagni's hard, steely power present as well - was it possible?

A voice boomed around and through her, repeating Cianto's earlier declaration: _I, Cianto of the hunt, acknowledge the judgment passed on my son by the Great Gods this day - that he should be stripped of the powers endowed by Godbirth. _Daine felt a grand, sweeping power swell as the words sounded - was that a distant eagle's cry? - then fade. 

The steely force contracted in on itself, tightening further and further until it was only a point against the endless dark - then it winked out completely. 

And somewhere, even more distant, she heard a voice wailing brokenly: _Noooooooooo… _

The scream intensified as she fell, seeming to twist inside her. Still the wail crescendoed, building higher and higher to an agonized screech -

~~~~~

Daine jerked up with a gasp, gulping in the dank, cool air of the cavern. She was sitting on the stone floor, now fully dressed - the gods had apparently thought to restore her to her clothes - and the softly lit cavern was silent. She felt battered and dizzy, and leaned her weight on her hands as she looked around the cave. The People Savagni had brought earlier were seated around the room, watching her. 

Are you all right? a wildcat - Tanil - inquired, coming over to nuzzle her shoulder. You weren't breathing, just before. What happened? 

Daine tried to smile and rubbed Bounder behind the ears, still breathing hard. "It's fair complicated," she murmured. "I'm all right now, I think." 

She pushed herself upright on wobbly legs and looked around. It was a few moments before recognized Savagni, lying crumpled at the opposite side of the cavern. Daine jumped, looking around wildly at the People around her. "What - what happened to him?" She quickly touched their minds; no trace of that menacing power remained. Next, her heart skipped a beat as she realized that felt no magic at all, outside the People's and her own. It was like diving sweaty and filth-encrusted into a rushing stream, and emerging cleansed from top to toe. 

I don't know, said a wolf, Moonsong. All of a sudden he looked angry or pained, and then he collapsed. There was a great noise, too - well, not exactly a noise, but like it. 

"Horse Lords." Daine moved closer, steps tentative. At one point dizziness gripped her, and she leaned on Tanil for support. Kneeling at Savagni's side, she checked his pulse. It was steady, but she doubted he'd come around anytime soon. She still couldn't feel any other magic, no matter how she groped - the steely, tainted power was gone from both the man's person and the animals he'd held captive. Given her experiences with the hurroks over the past few days, Daine hesitated to trust this perception, but logic told her the gods had made good on their resolution. Lucio Savagni was no longer a wildmage. 

She turned back to the People in the cave. "Can you feel him?"

They all responded in the negative. 

Daine sat on the stone floor and took several deep breaths. In all her years - eleven conscious of her magic - she had never witnessed a person being fully stripped of their magic. It was unsettling to first be overwhelmed by another wildmage's power, and later that day sense nothing in them - like a hurricane ceasing to blow in an instant. She glanced over at Savagni. Unconscious, he looked mild - even impotent - despite a line of pain in his brow remaining from the shock he had doubtless received. Daine wondered what it was like to be stripped of one's wild magic, particularly when one had lived a lifelong dream of pursuing it. She shuddered. What could it be like to be deprived of an ever-present internal force? 

She pulled herself to her feet again, once more fighting exhaustion. It had been a trying day. _The understatement of my life,_ she added mentally. What time was it? There was no way to tell underground. She couldn't sit around pondering the struggle that had just taken place - she had to get back to Ravenpeak and bring Savagni in. But how? She didn't know whether the task would be more difficult with the man conscious or unconscious. Now that she was the sole wildmage between them, the People present could easily help keep him in line, but would she have to wait until he came around? She didn't like the idea. For the moment, she asked several of the wolves not to let Savagni leave the cave if he awoke, then stumbled to the chamber's entrance and set herself to the task of getting out. Even with cat eyes in the dark and Tanil at her side to lean on, it wasn't easy; she often tripped on the rocky floor. But after what seemed like an hour, fingers of light touched the tunnel's walls and a silky breeze drifted in. 

Daine staggered out of the tunnel into the last rays of sunlight slanting across the plain. Cloud stood nearby, grazing calmly; as Daine appeared, she raised her head and trotted to her mistress's side. Daine frowned, then looked up; the eerie calls that took her a moment to recognize turned out to be those of a vast flock of ravens circling overhead, their voices stretching out across the plain. Daine blinked at the spectacle, but was somehow too exhausted to be awed - or to call out to the ravens. The next thing she noticed was a dark blot on the plain to the south. Sharpening her eyes to those of a raptor, she saw that it was a company of men in Ravenpeak's pale green and black livery riding her way - probably drawn by the great cloud of birds overhead. 

"Goddess bless," she whispered, and slid down the stone face to sit on the ground. 

They've been at it for hours, Cloud informed her. What happened in there? There was this… _sound _not long ago, and the ravens put up a racket. And you don't look so good. The mare leaned down to sniff Tanil - years of experience with Daine's friends had made Cloud fearless around many predators - then turned to give Daine a similar treatment. 

Daine leaned her head back against the cliff, feeling the warm _whuff_ of Cloud's breath and the tickle of her whiskers. "Long story," she mumbled. "I'll explain it all later." They all settled into silence as they waited for the troops to arrive. The sunlight gradually slipped away, leaving the plain shadowy and cool under a pale, silken blue sky. She had never noticed the smell of - verbenas? - on the breeze, Daine realized. Some things were just like that. 


End file.
